IRDS OF 
CROSS 

..OCKHART 



THE 



HIHIIHIWIHI 



IttitiHeiiii HUH li! 



m 


m 


■A 


mm 


HM 



iiilii 




Class f'y ^ZZf-^ 

Book . /,^^/^6- 

Copight»» Jf^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



THE BIRDS OF THE 

CROSS 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

Arthur John Lockhart 

Author of "The Masque Of Minstrt-ls," "Beside The 

Nufraguagup," "The Heart on the Sleeve," 

"The Papers of Pastor Felix," 

Etc., Etc. 



Frinted And Published For The 
.A.UXHOR By C. R. Lougee 
TV^INTERFORT, TVEE. 
1909 






V 









Jf 



r> 



Copyright, 1909, by 
Arthur J. Lockhart, Winterport, Maine. 



©CU2537U4 



TO ^ylY BROTHER, 

Tl^e Rev, Burtoq W, Lockhart, D, D., 

OF MANCHESTER, N, H., 

I Inscribe This Volurrje. 



Thij' Hhadowy wings should darken all thy 

floor, 
Tho' thou must shiver in the vjinter cold ; 
Tho' hanger enter at thy unbarred door. 
And thou hast penury ivhen thou art old; 
Tho'' with a niggard hand thy bread be 

doled ; 

Tho' few thy pleasures, oft and keen thy 

paiyis ; 
( Yet, having love within thy bosom's fold, 
While pity to thy famished heart remains;) 
If, when men suffer, thou canst feel their 
throes. 

And, when thou nought canst give hast yet 

a tear ; 
If God JtatJi made thee sharer of Man^s 

woes, — 
Tho' greater far thy sorrow may appear. 
Thou hast a priceless gift, he cannot hold. 
Whose Life is Pleasure, and whose God is 

Gold. 



CONTENTS 

The Birds of the Cross 9 

What Profit? 10 

The End of Song 11 

Ah : Then? 12 

The Difference 12 

The Canada-Bird 13 

Niagara 14 

Why, War? 14 

Song 16 

Blind P:yes 17 

A Toast 17 

The Birth of Music 18 

Oh, My : 18 

On Linekin 19 

The Way of Life 20 

The Cliampion 22 

Over the Hills Where Spices Grow 32 

Presumption 34 

When In the Maple Trees 34 

"Courajre !'' He Said 35 

The Call of the Sea 35 

Bright Were the Hours 37 

Faiths Voyager 37 

Migration 38 

Listen. O Land ! 39 

Georsre Martin 40 

Acadie 41 

November W^ind 41 

The Old Days 43 

Mother 44 

Awav, and Away 44 

Breed s Hill 45 

Shores 'f Mavooshen 46 

Poe 48 

Jaclc DaiKlelion 48 

The Art of Tennyson 49 

"March, im the Smith 49 



A Couvivial Epistle 50 

Birches 54 

The Destined Hour 54 

March fcJnow 56 

The Departing Year 57 

Lincoln 58 

Uowe 59 

O, Maiziel 60 

ijpring's Freedom 60 

To George Martin 61 

Chaniplain 61 

Tennyson 63 

Violets 63 

Home Discipline 64 

O Be Thou Strong 64 

Summer on the Penobscot 65 

The Winds 69 

Copernicus and Darwin 70 

Light and Shadow 70 

The North-West Arm 71 

The Crystal Rill 71 

Milton 72 

Love s Expression 72 

Lines, Written Under A Portrait 73 

Repeat the Song 75 

The Faith- Men 76 

The World 78 

Frances E. Willard 78 

A Uallad of the Tliree Maries 78 

A Song of Exile 81 

The Happiest Kingdom 83 

Theodore Harding Rand 84 

April 85 

Kroisos 85 

Statesman and Poet 86 

The Ships of the Czar 86 

Juno's Favorite 89 

Hymn For a Childs' Flower Festival 9o 

The British Flag 9l 

The Brook 95 

The Hills of Scotland 96 



104 
105 
106 
107 



119 
119 



Belle Borne Brook 97 

^ong 100 

The Unrecognizt-d Poet 101 

One More IO2 

McFlierson's Entreaty 103 
Cuba 
Hood 
Burns 

The Thrush 

The Doves IO7 

Victoria lOg 

The Grave Within My Heart 109 

The Epitaph of Keats HO 

This Also is Vanity HI 

When Doctor Luther Came II3 

Kaca 114 

The Making of Men II5 

The Lonely Pine II7 
To the bun 
Root and Blossom 

My Hope is in Thee 120 

The Messenger 120 

An Autumnal Hymn l2i 

The Lobsternian 124 

To Jolin Imrie 126 

At the Bethel 127 

The Prisoner of the lies Du Saint 129 

The Young Man, Absalom 129 

War 130 

Melanchthon s Watchword I3I 

At Hampden 132 

Tho Cock and the Pearl I33 

Chickadee I34 

The Eaffle I35 

Camp-Fire Memories 137 

To Ralph Shaw 138 

Who's Who ? 143 

A Proper Spring-Song 144 

The St<.ne Wall 145 

Eugene Field 146 

Wings 147 



The Muses In Ville Marie 


148 


The Mafcing of xVlay 


150 


Eveleen 


150 


Zola 


152 


Terrill 


153 


The Whip-poor-will 


154 


The Murmur of the I'ines 


15T 


The Spanish Armada 


158 


In Northumberland Strait 


164 


Dandelions 


165 


The Midnight Vigil 


165 


Mountain and Poet 


169 


An Autumnal Letter 


170 


Whittier 


174 


The Plea 


175 


Fellowship 


177 


Corn Of the Mountain 


177 


Palestina 


180 


To Madam Dreyfus 


181 


Hymn, Sung at the Dedication of Mary 




Moody Memorial Chapel 


182 


Sacer Jesu, Care Christe 


183 


Harmony Hall 


184 


Celestial Capers 


188 


Guidamac 


191 


Doctor Robin 


193 


Cant 


195 


Despatch 


197 


What Right ? 


198 


John Hay 


199 


God s Alchemy 


199 


The Men of Maine 


200 


Sonnet On Seeing the American Flag, To- 




gether With the Banner of England 


202 


Even There ! 


203 


Roosevelt 


208 


My Content 


203 


Down Tn Maine 


204 


To Titmarsh 


205 


The Autocratical Critic 


205 


The Mountain Pine 


205 



Speak, Then ! 206 

Norwegian National Hynin 207 

Hong of the Camper 208 

Thanks, For the Years! 209 

A Dirge, Under Pine and Palm 211 

Marching JSong 215 

Mother I Mother ! 216 

Thanks, For Your Song 218 

To Windsor, Nova Scotia 220 

The Poet's Farewell 221 

On A Spring Morning 223 

In Arcady 223 

Picking the Pears 224 

Follow the Gleam 226 

The Dream-Door 226 

The Childless 228 

To A Friend 280 

Song, From Nehilakin 232 

Under Death 232 

O Mary ! 233 

The Spur 233 

Israfil 234 

Frederick Lawrence Knowles 235 

Lines In A Guest-Book 237 
The Flight of Tyrants 
Envoy 



237 



THE BIRDS OF THE CRO^S. 
TT(5\HILE in his agony the Savior hung, 
\/\/ Three wandering birds alighted on His 

Cross : 
'' Sti/7'k ham ! Styrk ham I Styrk ham ! " 

the foremost cried ; 
''Strergthen our Savior in this crushing woe !" 
It was the Stork ; and, ever since tliat hour, 
For strength and blessing hath that bird been 
named. 

Then cried the second, circling, in distress, 
'•''Sval ham I Svalham ! Sval ham / " yet 

again ; 
"' Refresh Him I "tis our suffering Savior dear! 
Behold Him dying- I '' 'Twas the Swallow 

spake ; 
And ever since that hour the sons of men 
Look on the Swallow with a loving eye. 

The Turtle-Dove came fluttering when she 

saw 
Our suffering Lord's distress, and softly cr-ed: 
'■''Ki/rie ! Oh, Kyrie I Oh, my dying Lord !" 
And dear the Turtle-Dove is to our lieart. 
The Cross-bill came, and made a loud lament. 
Twisting his beak to pluck the nails away ; 
And well that bird shall evermore be loved. 
Then darkly swept, upon ill-omened wing. 
One crying, — *' Pueii ham ! Puen ham I " 

harsh and long ; 



10 Wb^f MlthB ®f ®I|]^ ^xmB. 

Punish and torture Him, who hangs accursed! 
That Arch-deceiver, bleeding on the tree ! " 
Then off he fiew : and, ever since tiiat hour, 
The Lapwjng flies, a crying, evil bird. 
Low over earth upon a halting wing. 

Be comforted, ye sympathetic souls ! 
Who to the pained your consolation bring. 
And to the hurt, your healing ! Joy to you, 
Ye cheerful souls, who scatter wide your 

cheer ! 
Ye pitying ones, be loved ; for ever dear 
The generous spirit is to pitying man. 

But woe to you, bird of the doleful cry ! 
And woe to you, scornful and saturnine, 
Vindictive and incriminative soul. 
Who makest thyself judge, and criest blame ! 
For thou art loved by neither God nor Mar, 
Nor findest mercy where thou hast not shown. 



fi 



WHAT PROFIT ? 

H ! what avails to gild, to consecrate a 
crime ? 
What profit, all the blood-stained gold the 
Destinies would grudge us, 



If, after all, we die, scarred and outworn with 
Time, 
And God shall judge us ? 



©Iff MlthB ®! llff <&tmB. 11 



What good, at last, that we heap gain on gain. 
Where woman's woe and childhood's want 
with treasure have endued us; 
If, at the end, there wait the everlasting pain — 
The curse of Judas ? 

Ah, why woo Iiate and wrath, instead of love? 
Why vex our fellow-men, and slight our God, 
and grieve him ? 
Wliy harden more our heart, while Jesus pleads 
above, — 

"Father, forgive him !'' 



THE END OF SONG. 

And singing on, triumphing, 
The old earth-mansion through 

Out marches the last minstrel; — 
He is the last man, too. 

Anastatius Grun. 

F SONG'S divine succession sweet, 

Say, can there ever be an end ? — 
Apollo's golden reign complete. 

The Muse's latest sonnet penned ? 
Nay, not while rosy Morning breaks, 

While Evening bathes her wings in dew; 
Not while from slumber Love awakes. 

And Heaven again makes all things new. 

Not till the Spring no more returns, 
And hushed is Robin's cheery note, 



And no man more of Summer learns 

From Bob-o -Ijincoln's madcap tliroat. 
Not while the Bluebird's carol still 

From winter thrills our grtening vale; 
Not while we kno'j^ our Whip-poor-will, 

Or England's Lark and Nightingale. 
Because our Shakespeare lies in dust. 

Because our Milton sings no more, 
Fails Song's supreme, immortal trust, — 

Is her harmonious mission o'er ? 
By all the passion of our heart, 

By all our yearnings, all our dreams, 
Suns may decline, and suns depart, — 

Still on the sacred lustre streams. 
Still iMusic lives for waking ears. 

Still Beauty glows for opening eyes : 
The bard, the minstrel, disappears, — 

The race of poets never dies. 

AH ! THEN ? 
TT(^HEN God the dust of my heart shall 

His Rose and His Violet to make, 
My Soul, that dearer is to Him, 
Shall brighten 'mid His Cherubim. 

THE DIFFERENCE. 
-^^OWE'ER we deem of this or that, yet 
X;^ know, 

^ Much we t' Opinion, much to Custom 
owe. 



^f ilff ^XBBB. 13 



See ! yon Zenana-woman, passing by, 
Veiled, yet disrobed almost unto the thigh. 
Burns with the sense of shame at the disgrace 
Of her uncovered English sister's face ; 
While the pale lady, in austere dismay 
To meet her thus upon the public way, 
Exclaims, — "How dares she thus abroad to 

roam ! 
Why don't she dress herself, or stay at home?" 

THE CANADA-BIRD. 
Y^vOW the sweet-scented Cherry is snowing, 
^"y' And red the Maple-keys are growing, 
^ And golden the Dandelion is blowing, 
I listen to hear the silence stirred 
By the — siveet, siveet Canada-bird. 

Other birds are here, and their song is sweet, 
But the voices of Spring are not complete 
Till we hear him his golden notes repeat ; — 
Most liquid note ear ever heard. 
Of the — siveet, siveet, Canada-bird. 
O the world seems dark, and the range seems 

narrow 
Of our life when the wintry winds do harrow; 
But 'tis changed with the note of the first 
Song-Sparrow ! 
Our boundless, far-away dreams are stirred 
By the — sweet, siveet, Canada-Bird. 
B4s silver clarion exalts the day, 
And his music charmeth evening away,— 



14 ®lfi^ Itrte (if ilfir €mm. 

Ay, niglit is broken by his glad lay ! 

As if he could never enongh be heard — 
Our — sweet, siveet, Canada-Bird. 

NIAGARA. 

Will it be a Niagara of wheel-pits and lail-races and 
factory-wastes ? 

J. Horace Mc Farland. 

Z TE VENP]RABLE WATERS ! that declaim 
\^ Of hoar Antiquity and deeds remote, 
^""^ And from the hollow of that thundrous 

thioat 
Breath'st thouglit to put our shallow schemes 

to shame ! 
Before the Norsemen or Columbus came 

Westward across tir untried Atlantic wave ; 
A y, ere tlie Red Sea saw the guiding Flame 

That led the hosts of Israel, thou didst rave 
With thy eternal tongue of fuming waters ! 

And shall the mongering h.and of heedless 
men 

With scornful touch thy loveliness disdain ? 
Arise ! ye beauty- loving sons and daughters ! 

The Sovereign Spirit of this vocal glen 

Shall give you thanks out of his awful fane! 



WHY WAR? 
H, MEN ! wherefore 
Red-handed War ? 
Must West and East 



llfie Strte (©f ®t|f ®r000. 15 

Haste to prepare 
The Raven's feast ? 

O Brothers ! Say, 
What need of fray ? 
The Christmas Chimes 
Forbid, to-day, 
This first of crimes ! 
For what Gold Fleece 
Break the World's peace ? 
Let Argo's sail, 
In Ganl, or Greece, 
For Love avail. 

Peace, broodingly 
Hold land and sea ! 
On sea and shore, 
Let brothers be 
Forevermore. 
O tongue ! be still, 
That bodest ill ! 
The bitter Star 
Flames with wild will 
In wasting War I 
Say, Britain ! Say, 

America ! 

Will ye be friends ? 

A royal YEA ! 

From heaven descends. 

Say, Germany ! 

And thou, Cathay ! 



And thou, Japan ! 

I hear ye say, 

We WILL ! We CA N ! 

SONG. 

■OME, ye who love Nature, and ye who 
love Truth, 
And ye who renew the bright visions of 
youth, 
Who dream not of Sea and of Forest in vai». 
Come, seek the bold shores and green islands 
of Maine. 
Chorus : 
Come, Come, O ye weary ones, come ! 
There's balm in the winds and the waters of 
Maine. 

Ye brain-weary ones, pent in cities so long. 
Come, revel in meadows of Summer and Song; 
Wild rocks of Mavooshen by surfy seas chid. 
And a'll the delights of the calm Pemaquid. 
Chorus : 
Come, Come, O ye weary ones, come! 
And rest in the bosom of calm Pemaquid. 
Come, pensive and gay ones, come, youthful 

and old. 
Here are treasures uncounted, unpurchased of 

gold ; 
The glow of glad cheeks by the Sea's heaving 

plain. 
The light of glad eyes 'mid the wild woods of 
Maine. 



ll|f MuhB ((©f itjf @.xmB. 17 

Chorus : 
Come, Come, O ye weary ones, come, 
Tliere's balm in tlie winds and wild waters 
of Maine. 
We will come, sweet Mavooshen, obeying your 

c{\ll ! 
You have lasting delights, you have pleasures 

for all ; 
To your bright fall'ng river, your ocean-beat 

shore. 
The hearts of your children must turn ever- 
more. 
Chorus : 
Come, Come, weary one, come ! 
The heart of Mavooshen gives welcome, 
once more. 

BLIND EYES. 
-^^YRANT and Demagogue refuse to see 
V^ The Star that ruled their fortune blaze 
and fall ; 
They madden, while the hand of Destiny 
Writes, '■'■Mene^ I'ekeU^' on their palace 
wall. 



A TOAST 

FoK The 25th of January. 

lios rules the morning sky, 
ithia leads the hosts of night, 
While a tear circles in the eye. 



TT(^HILE Helio 
VA/ While Cynl 



18 ibf Itrte #! Mbt <&mBB. 



Wliile smiles make human faces bright; 
While blows the daisy, blooms the tli(;n), 

VVliile day or night can pleasure give, 
Wliile human hearts exult or mourn, 

While Joy and Song and Laughter live ; 
Wliile wakes the love of all things things 
fair, 

While hate of wrong within us — Bueks! 
Lift Hope's bright glass against Despair, 
And let our Toast be, Iiobin liarr, 

As often as the Day returns. 

THE BIRTH OF JSIUSIC* 
T T(5\ HEN and where was jNIusic born ? 
\/StJ When the Gods, on- one great morn, 
Gave to man a heart of fire, — 
Love, with infinite desire. 
Ages long Love wandered dumb, 
Dreaming of the time to come. 
Till the strong Gods, quit of wrong, 
Crowned her loveliness with Song. 

OH, MY ! 
TTOUNG CLERIOUS, so delicate is he, 
V3] ^o ostentatious of liis modesty, 
^^ He thinks the coldest Venus far too warm, 
And scarlet blr.shed at Psyche's marble 

form ; 
He dubs Laocooji an image vile oh ! 

* These verses were wrftten l)y my brother, Rev. Bur- 
ton Welleslev Lockhart, D. D., nf Manchester, N U. 



Milt MlrhB W>f ilfi? ffira^B. 19 



And gives an extra fig-leaf to the Milo. 
'Tis liis prerogative to call attention ; 
But — there are things, you know, lue 
should not mention. 
ON LINEKIN. 

Went to Liiiekin. The guests are gone, and my gentle 
scholar. mu?ici;in, and fellow-poet gone with them. The 
beautiful scene is under a subdued lig-ht, as if a soul in 
nature mused over sombre legends, and the soft autumn 
sky is like atympanuM or great gray sounding-bell. Yon- 
der, the Baker cottage looks solitary indeed. In his home 
at Troy he ponders these frequent clear, delicious October 
day^-, and would fain spend them here. I can fancy the 
neat, trim cheerful man of greenest age, almost boyishly 
affected in the memory of summer days spent here, execu- 
ting a quickstep air.ong his books-, with a movement some 
thing like this. ^Jolrnal of P.\stor Felix. 

1 T(5\nEN we were down on Linekin, 
\y\/ On Linekin, on Linekin, 

When we were down on Linekin, 
On Linekin, Linekin-lea, 
Then the welkin was clearest, cleanest, 
And the vernal grass gleamed greenest, 
And evening fell serenest. 

And the sun like a glowing ember 
Was tangled in the tree, — 
When we were down on Linekin, — 
And oh, how blest were we ! 

When we were down on Linekin, 

On Linekin, on Linekin, 
When we were down on Linekin, 
On Linekin, Linekin lea, 



O then tlie songs were so many, 

And the fields were so sweet and sunny, 

And our liearts were blitlie as any. 

And the world was so fair,— so fair! 
When we were down on Linekin, 

And Summer days were tliere. 

When we were down on Linekin, 

On Linekin, on Linekin, 
When we were down on Linekin, 
On Linekin, Linekin lea, 
Tliere was smiling and rejoicing. 
That wind and wave were voicing. 
Where brightsails were veering and passing, 
And like a maiden's tresses 

Flowed the glory of the sea. 
When we were down on Linekin, — 
And oh, how blest were we ! 

THE WAY OF LIFE. 
From the German of Goethe. 

Johan Wolfgang Von Goethe, the illustrious poet of Ger- 
many, was initiated into Masonry on St John's Eve, in 
17S0 In 1S30 the Masons oi Weimar celebrated his Semi- 
centennial ; and the venerable Companion was pleased to 
honor them with a mark of his esteem in the form ot a po- 
etical composition. 

-^^OW typical the Mason's ways 

£^1 Of human life through changeful days! 
^ Therein an analogue appears 

Of his persistence, while the years 
Speed on to that eternal state 
Forewritten in our mortal fate. 



il|[f Strte (©f ihf (ir0BB. 21 



A misty sea, tlie Future hides 
Of joy and woe the changeful tides; 
But we will press straightforward still, 
To meet its thronging good and ill ; 
By all unswerved, undaunted, so 
We to our goal may forward go. 

And just before, in silent gloom, 
Stands the veiled portal of the tomb ; 
For high and low it doth await, — 
The end of human pomp and state : 
Where'er we pause, or onward fare, 
We know our march is ended there. 

In vain we ask, with yearning fond, 
The form of that which lies beyond: 
Interrogate them, as we will, 
The stars on high are silent still; 
Silent the graves, nor make reply 
The dearest lips therein that lie. 

While thou dost stand, with eager gaze, 
Come deep foreboding and amaze ; 
Illusive and phantasmal forms 
Disturb thy bosom with alarms : 
By doubts and strange misgivings vexed. 
Even the bravest are perplexed. 

But hear, O Comrade ! and rejoice, 
The Poet s and the Sage's voice ! 
From all tlie world, and from all time, 
Come their high messages sublime : 



Choose ivc.ll ; your clioice., though 

brief it be, 
Is endless as Eternity. 

Majestic E\es do you regard, 

And keep perpetual watoli and ward : 

Therefore, brave lieart, on Heaven re]y; 

His fullness waits to satisfy : 

Tlie Good that Is, your faith shall share; 

Work, love, and hope, and ne'er despair. 

THE CHAMPION. 
An Ode on Robert Burns. 
/^VAUNT ! ye spectral forms tliat start 
/^ From Fears dread thickets and lone hills, 
•^ Like bandits, to waylay the heart ! 

And ye, more frightful nor less shadowy Ills, 
Whose bruit the world with terror fills — 
Gaunt Famine, purple Plague, red War, 
and all 
The evils that our kind befall ! 
What Genius, swift, armipotent. 
Mastered by one divine intent, 
(Like Him, who rose in Galilee,) 
Shall grapple with these Ghosts, and set their 
victims free ? 

Yet not the Unseen Powers alone, 

On Earth their fateful measures pour; 

For Man will make his fellow groan. 
With lust of blood and golden ore ; 



®ljj^ MuhB ®f ®l|f ®r0B0. 23 



Nor ravin, fraud, intrigue, and blight, 
Are deeds al f)ne of Turk or Muscovite. 
All ! who shall vanquish, or restore ? 
Who shall the Spoiler cuib and dispossess ? 
Who shall bring back unto liis riglitonce more 
The Tiirall and Brother wliom lie would op- 
press ? 
Earth waits her champion long— so long! 
The Soul, most gentle, yet most strong ; 
The One, puissant, firm and wise. 
Who from tlie People shall arise. 
To flash the lightning of Truth's blade. 
And lead the last triumphant, grand Crusade, 
For our humanity by foes beset. 
He shall be one by suffering taught to feel. 

Till a heroic love it doth beget 
To make him Master of tlie Commonweal. 

So let him, angel-like, appear ! 
EarMi long has waited — slie is waiting yet : 
But when he comes he shall reveal 
The dawn of her millennial year. 

But One there was, of power and worth. 
Whom the high Gods armed and sent forth ; 
Soldier of Song and Priest of Love, was he, 

Who blew his golden tn.mpet in tlie North, 
And gave their watchword who still hope to see 
The liberation of Humanity. 

His blade was Song, — its edge you feel. 
As swift as light, as keen as steel ; 



And where it pointed, wliere it swept the way 
The happier legions marcli to-day, 

And climb the sunlit heights of Weal. 

Oh, happiest Bard ! most blest, for all thy woe ! 
Richest in joy, puissant in each thioe 

Of thy vicarious agony, thou art ! 
Immortal Youth ! in Scotia's morning glow 

Thou roseate standest, lifting every heart. 
And every place gives open door to tl)ee : 
Cottage and palace claim thee now, 

And men of high and low degree 
Live in the light of thy victorious brow. 

What Soul of Song is source of ampler cheer ! 
When thou dost at our feasts appear. 
And Mirth and Music rule the hour. 
The Winged Sisters cluster near. 
And hastening Time will pause to own thy 
power. 

Then will thy Brethren rise, without delay. 
And reach to thee the hand, and say, — 

" Welcome ! tliou tiller of the soil. 
Whom MossgieFs furrowed acres knew ! 
Thy soul, but not thy hand, is rich with spoil : 
What great thing is it thou a: t come to do ?" 

So might we hail tliee, could'st thou come 
From the long dust of Dumfries' tomb, 
Warm, radiant, in thy youtliful bloom ; 
With, not the simple wreath that Coila shed, 



^f ®te fflr000. 25 



But Time's arge laurel on thy head, 
And thine the splendor Song's high Masters 
may presume. 
At sight of thy majestic eyes 
Will not Fame's Senate all arise ? 
At sound ff thine inspiring voice 
Will not all hearts leap and rejoice ? 
Thou ever hast the surest way 
Of saying what our hearts would say ; 
And morning-dreams of youth return 
With Bonnie Doon and Bannockburn. 

We hear majestic voices that complain, — 
The thralls inglorious of titanic pain ; 
Hyperion, hurled from his throne ; 
And he, denied the light, with frenzied brain, 
Where Plilegethon flows on with an unend- 
ing moan. 
And some, exalted higli with star and sun. 
Dwell with the mountains and the seas alone, 
And flourish in the endless course they run. 

O mighty Spirits! born of flame 

And whirlwind, speak ye whence ye came! 

We glow and tremble at your tones ; 
Your mighty shadows throng the skies; 
What raptures lighten your glad eyes, 
What dolors darken, and what cries 
Break with the burden of infinities, — 
Promethean laughter, and Promethean groans. 
But you, ye ever-glorious train! 



26 ®te MuiB ®ff Ukt fflr000. 



Draw sweet fi-Din e'en the bitter waves of grief, 
From biting frosts renew your gieenest leaf, 
And purest pearls distil from cankering jiain: 

From eidolons of darkiuss ye 
Evolve all shapes of grace and majesty ; 

Suns break out of your darkest frowns ; 

From your Caucasian toitnre-llironts 

Angels of music and of light 

Smiling descend: Jove's malison 
May trebly smite them ; bloom, as well as blight, 

Cometh their bolt-scarr« d brf»ws upon; 

Till, lo! each fire-stricken one 
Unveils to Man a beatific sight ! 

They agonize with sweet despair. 
Vast as the glory of their night ; 
Their crowns august they calm'y,brightly wear, 
As all their anguish were delight. 

Rapt, far aloof we scan each face : — 

These are the Titans of our race. 
Who byhig'i songs and mighty thoughts are 

known ; 
But One there is whose language is our own. 

Thine icy peak, Prometlieus, we dare. 

If Aeschylus, the bold, will lead us there; 
Exult, with Homer, in tempestuous seas, 

Or weep with warm Euripides ; 

With the unveilers of Tartarean woe, 
Down to the shadowy world we go, 
And, with pale ?>raro, softly tread 
The awful mansions of the dead ; 



H SIfie (&tmB. 27 



Or listen to his voice of dread, 
Add brave the splendors of our own Maonides; 
Or bear vvitli him majestic part, 
And glow at his unrivalled art, — 
Sliakespeare, great scribe and master of the 
heart I 
Or we may scan the lurid glooms 
That the Dantean muse presumes ; 
Or mount vv^ith him where starry circles rise, 
To that most perfect of Celestial blooms, 
The mystic Rose of Paradise. 

Yet, hark ! there sounds from lowlier ground, 
a tone, 
So sweetly human ! — this we own ; 
No thunder of the Jovian rod, 
Nor groan of the crushed demigod, 
Nor plaint of martial hero overthrown. 
Ah, Barns ! when once thy hand is on the string, 
When once we hear thy clarion voice outring. 
There sounds a note we well may know — 
That burden of the Common People's woe: 
Lamenting now, that lot forlorn 
Whereto the toiling race is born. 
While tyrant lords consume, as rightful spoil, 
The fruitage of their painful toil; 
And now, exulting with the joy 
Of hearts that nothing can annoy, — 
Like leaping waters — Laverock shouting high, 
With rapture of a sun-bright destiny ; 
The Oracle and Advocate 



28 W^t JiltM (®f ®I|f &tmB. 

Of those who have no language, bear: 
Their moan his ninsic can translate, 

Till sheep and dogs as human kind apjiear. 

His heart was wido and warm enough to shield 
The creatures crying from tlie field; 
And mouse and hare are understood, 
True fellows of one brotherhood. 
For oft he knew the evil hour, 
With bird and beast, and tree and flower. 
How piercingly he can express 
Man's indignation, INIan's distress ! 
Yet, when liis mounting soul is free 
From its great gloom and lieaviness, 

That purest aerial strain of native minstrelsy! 

O Voice of Nature ! Voice of Burns ! 
Back to its earliest love my wandering heart 
returns, 
And finds no Singer with a spell like thine. 
Who can forget what once from thee he learns, 
Or miss that soul-enkindlirig spur divine ! 
Convivial Souls must turn to thee, — 
A flower fresh-blown, a fountain free, — 

Music and Love's epitome ! 
"When Memory's sunset-censer burn!-;, 
When Joy with morning's beam returns, 
When Hope is springing from each spire and 
spray. 
When Sorrow weeps with Autumn gray ; 
When Winter tempests v»liir] the snows, 
W^hen wakes the Daisy, blooms the Ih^se; 



lf|f JMuM ®f Mi^f <&tmB. 29 

When cronies round tlie evening fire 
Witli olden songs their liearts inspire, 
And give tlieniselves to niirtli and rhyme, 
As in that glowing elder time ; 
They can but turn, atfeelings springtide flood, 
To tliee, greatSoul! Bard of true Brotherhood! 
Whoever findeth thee receives 
The best tliat genial Nature gives: 
Thou bringest rain and evening dew, 

The odor of the liawthorn llower. 
The screaming of the wild curlew, 
The songster of the roseate bower, — 
Love's eloquent, persuasive power. 
Thou givest what is artless, native, true: 

The things most rare in poesy, 
Most rioli in life, — all, all are met in thee ! 

For Love's first Oracle art thou : 
Could Lesbian Sappho s eyes have looked be- 
yond 
Ilerage to thine, she would have owned thy 
plough. 
And been of thee, and not of Phaon, fond: 
Anacreon, from his laureat brow. 
Had laid his tribute at thy feet, — 
His song less varied and less sweet. 
That thrilling pipe whicli woke the Delphian 
vale. 
When found by thee, and blown — t/)ou know- 
est how — 
So wondrously, so charmingly, 
In Coila's ear, on Caledonian lea, 



To melt our bosoms it can never fail. 
Such was thy love and such thy matchless flame, 
The Sons of Scotia canonize tliy name ; 
For tl'ou and Nature art at one. 
And thou tliy Country's well-beloved son. 
Witli unf<irgotten joy Earth still rejoices, 
And seems to speak of thee with all her tliou- 
sand voices. 

Thy tomb hath now become a slirine 
To which all pilgrim-feet incline ; 
Because tliy siren-songs go forth. 
To give enchantment to the earth. 
Where'er hills rise, or rivers run. 
Or swelling oceans glimmer in the snn. 
So for thy sake we love to stray 
By howlet-haunted AUoway, 
At eve, or Afton in the sultry noon, 
By Lugar. or by Ballochmyle, delay. 
Once more the Daisy at our heart to lay, 
And pluck the wilding Rose of Doon. 

Tenderest, thy Song, loved Bard ! when to our 

homes 
The Angel pale, with drooping Sorrow, comes; 
For thou, when falls upon our path the eve 
Of mortal woe, canst grieve with those who 

grieve. 
Oars is the soothing strain when thou dost 

mourn 
For gentle Mary, or for good Glencairn: 
Thine elegiac lay doth thee endear. 



ilfl? MuhB ®f ilfl? @.XBBB. 31 

The soothing note is jjoc d to liear. 
Softly thou treadst wliere angels lull 
Our sainted and our beautiful ; 
Tliou keep'st, *niid Autumn's fading bloom, 
Tliine anniversary of tlie tomb : 
Where Niths memorial waters flow 
Thou liast thy vigil, lone and low, 
Till morning dew has fallen on thy brow, 
And wakens in thy heart tlie lover s holy vow: 

Thy ^oul takes tribute of a star, 
Or pitying Mary's smile beams on thee from 
afar. 

Rise I beauteous Orb of fSong! Assoiling space 
Ail, save thy lustre, shall efface, — 
That spotless garment, ever worn 
When thou woild'st greet the early morn: 
Let golden be that disc, once gray ; 
Let spot and sliadow pass away. 
Unveil the brightness of thy face, 
O Soul I arisen to Music's prime. 
Where thy illustrious brothers climb, ^ — 

Thongli few may ever reach that glorious place. 
Still sing, and sing, and sing, and ever sing ! 
Warble in thine eternal Spring, 
Where woe and wrong, tliou knew'st of yore. 
May never, never reach thee more: 
Sing! and Song's Champion ever be. 
To guard the gates of Liberty ; 
Nor ever lose thine earnest sense, 
E'en in the halls of Dalliance ; — 



32 M^t MltM #1 ®lf]? &xnm. 

Move with tlie swiftness of the roe, 
Or Alpine torrents in their flow I 
For thee tlie Destinies decreed 
The palm of strengjth and certainty and speed ! 

Shout ! ye wing'd spirit of the cloud ! 

Thunder! thou foamy mountain fall! 
Here rings a voice more sweet, more loud, 

And here is rapture more than all ! 

OVER THE Hll.LS WHERE SriCES GROW. 

©NE song can soothe me when I grieve, — 
It is the song of a Sabbath eve : 
My Father's manly voice outrirgs. 
And with himmy sainted Mother sings, — 
" Fli/, like a youthful hart or roe. 
Over the hills where sj^ices grow.'''' 
Remote and high, the air is still. 
And tlie sun is sinking behind the hill ; 
And, below dark woods, with a tint of rose, 
The Basin* lies in its white repose : 
Then away on the wings of Soiiir we go, 
Over the hills where spices grow. 
They dwell on many a sacred lay. 
The Ages will not wear away; 
'•'■Dundee.,'''' " Balermo.,^'' wake the spell. 
Or '' Ocectn^s " billowy accents swell ; 
But one gives Song unhindered flow, 
Over the hills :;jhere spices grow. 
Humming the sweet familiar air, 
My Father sits in his rocking- chair, 

* Basin ot Minas, King's County, N. S. 



When the meal is over that closes the day, 
While the dishes are washed and put a-way, 
Till my Mother comes, and Joy's bugles 

blow, 
"■Ore?' the hills where spices gj'ow." 
O ye, wliose liearts are needing cheer. 
The gracious invitation hear ! 
" Come, my beloved, haste aivay, 
Cut short the hours of thy clflay ; 
Fly like a youthful hart or roe, 
Over the hills ivhere spices groiv.^'' 
The years will bring, as they have brought, 
Sorrow and care and anxious thought ; 
The dusty clods our hearts o'erlay ; 
But we will brush them all away. 
Fleeting like '■'■youthful hart or roe 
Over the hills where spices grow.'''' 
O Songs, by God and Angels given I 
O Songs, that lift our hearts to Heaven ! 
O Songs, that open from past years. 
The founts of memory and of tears ! 
Your moving sway, or swift or slow, 
Is "• Over the hills ivhere sj^ices groiv^ 
O rapt ones, in the sunset glow ! 
Your voices blend no more below ; 
But, Memnon-like, in ^lemory's dawn. 
The happy strain goes sounding on ; 
And your glad steps now bounding go, 
" Over the hills ivhere spices grow.'''' 



34 M^t llrte fflf ©Iff §.mm. 

And, by and by, in some glad year, 

When our last sunset falleth clear, 

And we our fair home-waters see 

Transfigured rare and goldenly, 

O then will we together go, 

" Over the hills where spices grow.'^ 

PRESUMPTION. 

f^RESUMPTION walks with upraised head: 
1(2/ God's ire 

A It recks not, forward moving : Suddenly, 
Down-darts the livid, all-consuming fire. 
From its undreaded ambush in the sky. 

WHEN IN THE MAPLE TREES. 

T T(^HEN in the maple trees 
\KJ Robins shall sing, 

When in the scented breeze 
Hammocks shall swing ; 
When fields are daisy-fair. 
Sweet birds chant everywhere, 
Sing we some tender air — 

Touch the light string. 
Ours the siesta, then, 

'Mid the hushed noon ; 
Wanderings by grove or glen, 

At morning boon : 
Ah, then the long delights. 
Thro' dreamy days and nights. 
With laughing, fairy-flights. 
Under the moon ! 



'llff Itrte ®f Ilff fflrjii!0B. 35 

Silently, tenderly, 

Twilight draws near ; 
Lo ! in t!ie sunset sky 

Swims her star clear : 
Hark I thro' the open door. 
Music's melodious score 
Floats downward to the shore, 
Charming the ear ! 

Now let the banjo hum, 

'Neath the stars' sheen ; 

Light-footed maidens come, 
Tripping the green ; 

So, gently gliding by, 

Dream-wing'd, the hours shall fly, 

Till all the morning sky 
Golden is seen. 

• '' 'COURAGE' ! HE SAID. '' 

•HE note of Courage sound, the note of 
Cheer, 
Clear let the signal ring from slope to 
slope, 
Till all the vales and mountain.tops shall 
hear, 
And answer to the bugle-call of Hope. 

THE CALL OF THE SEA. 

v-.> TREES ! your breezy tops uplifting, 
y/ O brooklet, that laughest by ! 

O rosy clouds, that at dawn are drifting 
Across a perfect sky! 



36 il|i? MxhB ®f M^t (&tmB. 

Ye blooms, by my garden walks unfolding 

Your bosoms, glad and gay, 
Ye cannot longer my heart be holding. 

For I must be up and away ! 

For the Sea ! oh, the Sea! 

TheSea^ so deep and strong ! 
The Sea! the Sea! the Sea! 

It calls 7ne all day long. 

Then come, my friend, my connade dear- 
est, 
Whose mirth is mixed with mine, 
Who when I grieve art ever nearest, 

With smiles and tears of thine; 
And come, my own, my gentle lover, 

For dalliance ne'er delay; 
The hour of kisses and dreams is over, 
And I must be up and away! 
For the Sea, ! etc. 
For your sheenest page, O my sweetest 
Poet, 
When you give it to Summer and &ong. 
There's a glorious theme, did ye but know it. 

Where the whitening billows throng ! 
Tho' purple the hills in the haze of even, 

And sweet the vale with flowers, 
Tho' my garden be bright with the dews 
of heaven, 
Through all night's starriest hours; — 
Yet, the Sea! etc. 



Wilt Itrte ®f ®t|jr (Br0Ba. 37 

RKIGIIT WERE THE HOUR^. 

©RKtHT were the hours, and our hearts 
were j^lad and gay, 
Fair are tlie scenes, and they beckon us 
away ; 
Gentle and kind are the happy hearts we know; 
Then back again, when Summer comes, O let 
us go ! 
Chorus : 

We're coming ! we're coming, w^here the 
waves of Ocean flow ! 
To old Mavooshen's haunted shores again we'll 

go- 
Free as the winds, and as the waters free, 
Free as the birds, for a little while we'll be; 
Ply ball and bat, bid the little boatie row, 
Or spread at eve the shining sail as white 
as snow. 
Chorus : 

We're coming, etc. 
Then will we go, to remember we were blest, 
One to the East, and another to the West; 
But there shall be a light Cares cloud amid, — 
A shining lure to lead us back to Pemaquid. 
Chorus : 
We're coming, etc. 

FAITH'S VOYAGER. 

^ ^ T CARE not how the wind may blow ! " 
So sang Faith's Voyager, one day; 
'Twas in the Summer's golden glow, 



38 ®te MlthB ffif ite §.xmB. 



When sleeping seas liis keel delay : 
Why should I fret if waves are still? 

Why hasten till He bids me go ? 
To linger is my Fatlier's will, 

And I am glad to have it so. 
" I care not how the winds may blow'' ! 

Erecting still a dauntless form, 
He sang, when white tlie seas with foam, 

Smit by the Angel of the Storm: 
" Why startle that the waves run higli ? 

Why blanch because the wind is wild? 
My Father holds them — He is nigh, 

And He can answer for His cliild. 
" I care not how the winds may blow ! '' 

O Mariner! Death's form doth sweep 
Between ye and the land ye love, 

And dark and lonely lijes the deep: 
Yet sang he: " Let the billows flow, 

Their roaring gulfs before me flee; 
My Father wills to have it so. 

And that shall be enough for me." 

MIGRATION. 

He guides me and the bird. 

Browning's Paracelsus. 

HALL I not find the way? shall I not hear 
I And know the summons, when my Lord 

doth call? 
When that must come to me that comes to 

all. 
Shall ncit Time's ancient mystery be clear? 



il|f ItrBa ®f W^t <^xmB. 39 

The Swallow knows, before the fading year 
To liftlier wingagainstthe shadowy North ; 
The wild Swan knows his time, and sallies 

forth, 
before the snows and sleety blasts appear; 
The Salmon hears its voice in the lone pool 
Among the hills, and pants for the deep Sea: 
Shall I not liear His voice who calls for me? 
The meaner creatures err not: Thou shalt school 
My heart and train my spirit ; Thou shalt 

lead 
My Soul from Death's deep shadow, at her 
need. 



LISTEN, O LAND ! 

ISTEN, () Land ! 

To mine augury of fame: 
What august E>e hath scanned 
Thy broad States, nobly planned! 
What lips have spoken thy name, — 
CANADA! 
Wake, and arise! 

Thou shalt be great and free : 
Behold ! the shadows appear 
Of a race in high career 
To an unwrought destiny, — 

CANADA! 
Listen, O Shores! 

O Mountain, and Plain, and Sea! 
Ye peoples who her* abide. 



What marvels are prophesied, 

What hopes are cherished of tlice, — 
CANADA! 
Listen, O Land! 

Rise, and the word fulfil ! 
Let Destiny strike the hour 
When thy life-tree shall break in flower, 
At the height of thy noblest will, — 
CANADA ! 

GEORGE MARTIN. 

/^LADNESS was thine! Of al! the Sons of 
yWl Song 

None ever hailed me with a cheerier voice; 
Thou could*st rejoice with him wlio did rejoice. 
Or, standing Sorrow's weeping onrs among. 
Could st shed the furtive tear. To scan the page 
On which thy lines irregular were traced. 
Unseen by thy dim eyes, — 'tis still to taste 
Friendship's rare wine. The rhyme, the prov- 
erb sage. 
The mirthful sally,- each bespoke to me. 
Beyond all change, all doom or destiny, 
A generous nature, manly and robust. 
Would I again might see thee as of old ! 
Ah, would th' long, lonely silence thoucouldst 

break! 
Bui that benignant hand which once would take 
The pen, beneath Mount RoyaPs leafy gold 
Is lying pulseless in the silent dust. 



^f Mlft <^mBB. 41 



ACADIE. 

IKE mists that round a mountain gray 
Hang for an hour, then melt away, 
So I, and nearly all my race. 
Have vanished from my native place. 

Each haunt of boyhood's loves and dreams 
More beautiful in fancy seems; 
Yet, if I to those scenes repair, 
I find I am a stranger there. 

O thou beloved Acadie ! 

How, whensoever I think of tliee. 

Dull grow these skies 'neath whicli I range, 

And all the summer hills are strange. 

Yet sometimes ] discern thy gleam 

In sparkles of the chiming stream; 

And sometimes speaks thy haunting lore 

The foam wreathed 8ibyl of the shore. 

And sometimes will mine eyes incline 

To hill or wood that seems like thine; 

Or, if the robin pipeth clear, 

It is thy vernal note I hear. 

And oft my heart will leap a-flame. 
To deem I hear thee call my name. 
To see thy face with gladness shine, 
And find the joy that once was mine. 

NOVEiMHEK WIND. 

HEAR the dole of the wailing blast, 
Ere November's past; 

And I see the waves of a darkening sea 
Move restlessly. 



I 



42 ffite ltr&0 ®f ®I|i^ @.tmB. 



The sense of woe do tliey impart 
(3nce more to my heart. 

I think of one wlio was often nigh, 
In the days gone by; 

Of the little white house on tlie slope of the 
hill, 

At Lockhartville. 

Together we slept, together we played 
'Neath the larches' siiade. 

Together we fared, from May time to Yule, 
At the village school. 

Ah, me! it is seven and tliirty years, 
.. Since that time of tears. 

When that wild word came, on a wind blown 

by, 

Like a long-drawn sigh ; 
While of change and loss and mortal woe 
We wept to know. 

Then our first sweet babe disclosed her 
charms 

In her mother's arms; 
And the scene of her husband's nativity 

The bride might see. 
We have had our part of sorrow and tears, — 

And, — the Years — the Years! 
They bow us down, dear wife, and we mind 

Tliat dirge-like wind! 
Like frosted leaves we witlier, to-day, 

And our heads grow gray. 



Oilfj? Itrte ®f ilfj? fflr00H. 43 



Our children are gone, our kindred are 
Scattered afar: 

And now, while November glooms and sighs, 

Doth a form arise; — 
A manly form, with an air of grace, 

And a youthful face. 
Ah, wife ! we know not the way he went. 

With liis brief life spent; 
What^sudden anguish, what dread despair, 

Then met him there! 
The seas are wide and dark and deep, 

Where he lies asleep; 

And the North wind sings a shuddering stave 
Over his grave. 

THE OLD DAYS. 
;^H the Old Days, the dear Days, 
^ How shine they now afar ! 

O who can tell these New Days 
How dear the Old Days are ? 
For there's never a Song of the Old Days 

But will bid the tears to start ; 
And there's never a flower of the Old Days 
But is treasured in our heart. 

Oh, the Old Days, the dear Days ! 

And can we hope to see 
Any, of all the New Days, 

So fair in their degree ? 
Fair, fair they were, those Old Days, 

We shall nevermore behold ! 



44 ite 1 



Yet Heaven sliines clear through tlie New 
Days, 
Thougli Eartli grew green in tlie Old. 

MOTH EH. 

Her \ ery memory is fair and briglit, 
And my sad thought dotli clear. 

Henky Vaughan. 
T T(^HEN leaden ills too oft my life oppress, 
\KJ And gloomy thouglit the sunny will dis- 
place, 
Tlien rises star-like, for my grief "y redress, 
Motlier serene, thy patient, ciieeiful face, 
Lighted with somethin; of supernal grace. 
With gentle, mild rebuking of my folly ; 
Teaching thy child, — of all his brooding race 
The one most given to musf^ful melancholy, -- 
That Hope and Courage are Life's central stars 
Set in Love's skies to guide the wanderer's way; 
While o'er each cloudy doubt, o'er passion- wars 
There shoots triumphant Faiths eternal ray: 
JSo may I take into my fainting hea;t 
Peace from that cordial liosoni where thou art. 

AWAY AND AWAY. 
^waY and away to the greenwood 



^ 



\way with the Swallow and iiee ! 
Away with the Hours, to revel in flowers, 
With the Hrook to welcome me ! 

Away, to a child's soft cradle, 

Under the purring pines, 
.\nd the budding brake with carols awake, 

When the lyric morning sliines ! 



t oijk fflrjni00. 45 



Away, 'mid tne surf of sunset, 

And tlie ptirple-niisted vale, 
To the g.)lden rents of the cloudland tents 

And the seas where tlie cloud-ships sail. 
Away from fagging and iuim-drum, 

From being hurried and hurled, 
All dinned and dreary, till my lieart is a- 
weary 

Of that ."Sorrow they call, the World ! 
Let nie drencli my brain in tlie dew-fall. 

Let me fire my heart with tlie morn ; 
Then these megrims gray, and these spec- 
tres, away 

Shall be swept with a royal scorn ! 

UKEED'S HILL. 

I h;id a dieam on a recent inorsiing-, in which I seemed 
t'> be ascendinuf a hill, when I met a man who stayed to 
speak with me, and who said — " Know you this place, and 
what has been done here ? This is Hreed's Hill." Upon 
awaking, with these wo; ds in menory the following lines 
were co;:. posed . 

T^NOW you this place? The thoughtless 
jN pass it by, 

(^ Nor ask upon this soil what deeds were 
done, — 
What majesty the ' all-beholding sun,' 
Has seen outflame from our mortality. 
They were plain men, who were content to die. 
(jrray are these sombre stones; the bare hilllies 



46 U^t MlxhB ®f ®I|]? €tmB. 



Only a common scene to connr.on eyes, 

And no one turns, while still the throng goes 

by. 
They hear no sound of tumult as they go ; 
They know not tlie fierce joy, the liigli career 
Of those who triumphed on that glorious morn : 
Their thoughts wliirl not with the vast tides 

that flow 
Through struggling souls, — tlie rapture, hope 

and fear. 
The agony, where nations are new-born. 

SHORES OF MAYOOSHEN. 

In the Summer of 1903 a company of Summer visitors 
were gathered together at Pemaquid, who formed what was 
known as the "Pemaquid Club," with a complete outftt of 
Constitution and Bye-laws. Initiation fees, duep, and all 
that goes to a properly-constituted society, even to a poet, 
and in part an original Song-book, to which the present 
writer was a principal contributor. It was proposed that 
a continuous membership should be held, and that the 
company should meet from season to season in the same 
place. Like many another fair project, however, it came 
to naught, and the members were presently scattered far 
and wide. The following is the first of the Songs, written 
to popular airs, which formed a feature of that merry and 
convivial Summer, and were sung amid the green woods 
and along the rocky shores of that most romantic portion 
of Lincoln County. Scattered throughout this volume are 
several lyrics that formed a part of that collection. Mav- 
ooshen is another Indian name of the district called Pema- 
quid. 

'TT^O the joys of old Mavooshen 
^) When suns of Summer shine. 
With the lullaby of waters. 



ll|f Itrte ®f Wfi? fflr000. 47 

A.nd whispers of the pine; 
With whispering of tlie pine 

Wliere the wave of Ocean roars! — 
Oh I the fair fields of Mavooslien, 
And the bonny winding shores! 
To the lionies of old Mavooshen, 

With friends tliat there we knew. 
The souls care-free and joyous, 
The warm hearts and the true; — 
Ay, tlie warm hearts and the true, 
And each laughter-loving eye, 
Where tlie Summer winds blow softly, 
And the waves make soft reply. 
On the green hills of Mavooshen 

How sweet to sit and dream 
Of many an olden legend 

Beside thy slieltered stream! — 
Thy gurgling, glimmering stream; 
Or, wliere the surf leaps high, 
Watch the white-wing'd ships, at even- 
ing, 
Go softly sailing by. 

O ye green liills of Mavooshen! 
Ye lovely Summer dream, 
Where sang, 'neath plashing oak-leaves, 
Tlie Spirit of the Stream; — 
Of the merry winding stream, 
-And the echo-haunted shore! 
Oh, ye rocks of old Mavooshen, 
VVith the billow bursting hoar! 



48 ffllff MlthB (§f Mi^^ €tmB.. 



m. 



POE. 

I HEN shall we see thee, clear of fog and 

mist 
That en-, ions souls so long have round 
thee thrown ? 
When Clirist shall say to each vain moralist, — 
Let him who haf/i no .sin cast the first 
stone. 

JACK DANDELION. 

WRITTEN IN A CHILDS ALBUM. 

SOLD JACK DANDELION,— tine little fel- 
low ! 
Arose at dawn in his bright vest of yellow; 
He went early to bed, and was early to wakt-n; 
Yet scarcely had he his dewy bath taken. 
And scarcely had he his early prayer said, 
Whenarattlinglawn-mowerswipedoff his head 
Oh, bo! what a fate for a heart so mellow 
As young Jack Dandelion, — poor little fellow ! 

But Jack belongs to a dauntless race. 

So he came right up in the self-same place, 

And stood there straight with the stuffiest, 

With a pleasant smile, in his yellow vest: 

He couldn't be daunted, — no, not he ! 

And he took everything so joyously. 

With as cheery a face, and a smile as mellow, — 

Just like Jack Dandelion, — brave little fellow ! 



llff Itrte ®f iHfj? fflra^Bo 49 



THE ART OF TENNTSON. 

18 writ of him, Perfection is his prai«e: 
His is tlie splendor of a sunset sea; 

His is tlie odorous pomp of Summer days, 
And mingled glories, all of higli degree. 



i 



MARCH, IN THE SOUTH. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF GAUTIER. 

ET, where changeful Man is found, 
Nature walks her ancient round: 
March, wlio laughs at all our cares, 
Secretlj' the Spring prepares. 
Slyly, ere the daisies peep. 
Waking from their winter sleep. 
Comes the P^ormer of the buds, 
Chiseling their golden studs. 
Cunning dresser ! on he goes, 
Under vineyard, orchard-close; 
With his swan's-puff snowily 
Powders every almond tree. 
Nature in her bed reposes, 
While he goes among her roses, 
Lacing all their new buds in 
Corsages of velvet green. 
While he solfeggios sings 
To the blackbirds, — lo! he flings 
Snowdrops to the greening meadows, 
Violets to the purplin^j shadows. 
By the side of cressy brook. 
Where the stag with startled look 



50 iljif Itrte (if ®l|j? &.tmB. 

Ceases drinking, lie compels 
Scented lilies' silver bells. 
Rude witlioiit, but deft witliin, 
He hath arts our love to win; 
Winter's hand he gently looses, 
Jocund guests he introduces, 
Soon— liis secret work complete — 
Aprils coming dotli he greet : 
'' Dearest Montli ! " he smiling says, 
'' Bringin Sp: ings delightft 1 days I'' 

A CONVIVIAL EPISTLE. 

WRITTEN IN THE DORIC MANNER, AND KKAD AT 
A REUNION OF FRIENDS, AT ORRINGTON. 

:^^E.\R Friens, onc«' more with homely lays 
\^)) I greet you, as in other days. 

When I, too, trode the sweet byways 

Of Onington, 
And in the thrifty Farmer s praise 

-My rhyme-webs spun. 

And ken ye not that auld braw time, — 
When Uncle Gregory rade sublime 
His mirth-mad hobby, in his prime, 

Wi' witchi!ig an, — 
I gie'd ye sic a screed o' rhyme, 

Fresli frae my heart? 

An' there we sat, rejoic'd to see 
Our Robie* share the social glee, 
As wit and song and poesy 

Were pour'd at call, 

* Ex-Go veriior Robie. present on the occa^ion alluded to, 
in company with 'Uncle Ed. Gregory. 'and 'Aunt I.izzie.' 



il|f Strte (if ®I|f fflr00Bo 51 

To dedicate with brave .soiree 

Your new Grange Hall 

Your liard, since that auspicious day 
Has daundered far upon his way ; 
Yet memory o' that joyous May 

Dotli backward bring 
"" A touch of blitiie vitality 

Upon its wing." 
Where now are thaeauldfrien's we knew? 
Gone, ' Uncle Ed, ' — ' Aunt Lizzi e,' too; 
And niony, vanisli d frae our view 

Shall come nae mair; 
Wha ance we held baith leal and true, 

Our mirth wad share. 
Dear grows the past as time outrolls, 
To all our retrospective souls ; 
Our sunsets glow like living coals, 

Low 1' the West ; 
And with the rainbow's stripe our goals 

Of stcum are drest. 
Ah, what a world we lived in, then ! 
In ink of gold Love dipped his pen 
To write a fiery lyric, when 

Life's sun was high! 
Hope's echoes, upon hill and glen, 

Could never die. 
Then Love and Youth breathed their di- 
vine 
Music thro' waterfall and pine, 



52 . iff]? 3uhB ®f ®I|i? €tmB. 

Thro' rustling corn, thro' fields a-shine 

Wi' lisping grass ; 
While Fancy flowery wreaths wad twine 

Each day for us. 
' The Springtime made the wc>rld anew; 
The sky had sic a matchless blue! 
The rose had sic a glorious hue! 

The lilies sprung, 
Wi' sic a heavenly grace, to view, 

When we were young! 
And when the fields were daisy-white, 
And meadows knew the dear delight 
Of Bob-o'-Lincoln's laughing flight. 

Our childhood had, 
With whip-poor-wills thro' the brief night 

Cause to be glad. 
When swelling ships in full-sail'd pride 
Sailed up upon the opening tide, 
Sweet, on yon cliffy river-side, 

Frae her green bower 
To bear that modest vernal bride, 

Th' arbutus flower ! 
But shall our puling rhymes deplore, 
That some of us, at near th ree-sccre, 
Are laughing girls and boys no more, 

Wi' youth a' spent; 
Or ring the changes, o er and o'er, 
Of discontent ? 
Nay ! we'll do nae sic thing, forsooth! 
— Sit, wi' Achilles in his booth, 



®I|i? llrte (if ©If]? €r00;0. 53 

And grumble, like a grumbling tooth, 
In fitful rage? 

Nay, better than a verdant youth 

A green auld age. 

Tho' blauts o' hail the Storm-fiend flang, 
Our Oak o' Life is stout and Strang, 
His green leaves yet about him hang, 

His sap mounts clear; 
We may be gude to delve and dang. 

Yet mony a >ear. 
When young and auld are metthegether 
God gie ye cheerie heart an' weather ; 
Keep hats and feathers in fine feather. 

While y' shake th" wa' 

Wi' speech an' sang, bustle an' blather, 

'Round your Grange Ha'. 

Ripe strawberries, — the girls will hull 

'em, 
An" bring fresh cream, to mix and mull 

'em ! 
Coffee an' steaming tea, — I smell 'em ! — 

Buns, piping hot ! 
Come, frae your cavern of Adullam, 

Wi' that bean-pot ! 
But bring you forth a smiling face, 
The round of social chat to grace ; 
Of maugre looks be there nae trace, 

Till a' be done: 
The Farmers are a cannie race, 

But must ha© fun. 



54 (il|f MlthB ®f ®l|i? €tmB. 



An' guid frien's, let me wluis})er tae \,e 
How verra gladly I'd be wi ye ! — 
O jolly dough-mits — juist to pree ye ! 

— It niayiia be ! 
But, guid folk, thri' ] canna see ye, 

Hae tliocht for nie. 
Juist now the supper-bell they lang : 
Syne, ere ye gae yer ways alang, 
YeMl ablins sing a little sang, — 

Ive heard that same : 
Then, like guid childer, ye may gang 

Straught awa' hame. 

BIRCHES. 

WALKED a winding road to-day, 

Bordered with silver birches ; 
To bear sweet odor far away 

The wind their covert searches: 
O Ladies of the wildwood shade ! 

Your human sisters, dressing 
In perfumed robes, have often made 

Such soft and sweet impression. 

THE DESTINED HOUR 

WRITTEN WHEN ILL AND ABSENT FROM HOME. 

©DAY ! that must so surely come, — 
Thou dreaded, thou mysterious, Day ! 
When sound of Earth shall cease, Earth's 
lips be dumb, 
And when my Soul must rise and haste away. 

From journeying over land and sea, 
My heart returnetb home again ; 



®l|i? Itrte (®f ©Iff <§.xmB. 55 



\ longer, stranger pathway waits for me, 
A bourn eternal — be it bliss or pain. 

O Day ! (rod hideth from my sight ! 

Wliat seer thy coming may foretell ? 
Whetiier, the darksome messenger of 
night, 
Thon ring'st for me an unexpected knell ; 

Or, angel-like, at opening day, 

Thon comest, with a fairer dawn, 
To herald my nndannted Soul away, 
"^Vhere my belov'd, familiar ones have gone. 

O Day, of all my days to me ! 

Where wilt thou lay my drooping head? 
Shall I her face, who most hath loved me, 
see, 
While prayer is made and softening tears are 
shed ? 

Or, cast afar, a stranger lone. 

Surviving all most loved and true, 
Must I breathe out my solitary moan. 
And unlamented bid the earth adieu ? 

(3r, of my household group the first. 

May I be called to take my leave, — 
To bless the wife I love, the babes I nurs'd. 
Disguising sorrow that might make them 
grieve ? 

Shall I be led to painless sleep, 

And gently pass to rest supreme ? 



56 ite Itri^ ®f ®I|]^ &TmB. 



Or partas(^uickly as from yon blue (l«ep, 
When black with cloud, slioots down the 
piercing gleam ? 

Or, sapped by loatlily-diawn di^east, 

.Shall I, in long-enduring pain, 
Pray, with a feeble cry for woes surcease, 
And long to break my half-divided chain ? 

Ah, God ! tliou know-st — Thou, al<»ne ! 
And well such knowledge dwells with 
Thee ! 
For hearts were chill as ice, or hard as stone. 
If all they fear they Imd the skill to see. 

Or, saved from fears to lonely dreams, 
Then aimless all my days might be ; 
Listless, my feet mipht rove by haunted 
streams. 
Shrinking from converse and society. 

Yet come, O Day ! as come thou must ! 

If then my Savior drawetli nigh : 
Lay this poor earthly mansion in the dust. 
If then His hand shall lift me to tlie sky. 



MARCH SNOW. 

^T^IS morn, and still the 'hoary meteor' flies; 
(^ All through th<' night's deep silence it 

descended; 
In it's immaculate beauty now the skies 
And the hushed eartli are buried deejt and 

blended. 



iifje Itrte (if TO|]? €r00^. 57 



The year hath not beheld a wintrier scene! 

The flaky softness buries all below: 
The hoary elms forget their wished-for green, 

Windows and walls are battened with the 
snow. 

Now tiny puffs curl from eacli marbled roof, 
And eddying downward sink the flal^es to 
rest; 

The Winter "Spirit hovers yet aloof, 

To breathe a benison on Earth's wan breast. 

The piled down on the apple-boughs that lay. 
Smithy the breeze in playful gusts is spun: 

Rises the wind, and whirls the drift away; 
And, ringed with swirling cloud, yon breaks 
the sun! 

THE DEPARTING YEAR. 

^ PECTRE ! that stealest by, 
(^\ While midnight toUeth slow, 
^— ' With frosty, tearless eye. 
And torch inverted low; 

Thy step was once so light, 
Thy face so smiling bright! 
Set free — 
Depart, thou haggard ghost, for none will weep 
for thee! 

Spectre ! thou wanest now ! 

Thou, too, so lov'd and fair — 
No more. . . We crown his brow 

Who treads morn's starry stair. 

Thou, — veil'd thy face in woe, — 



Down Midnigbt's postern go: 
Pass on, 
Like ghost at crow of cock, before the peep of 
dawn. 

Spectre ! thine lioiir is past, 

Though Love thy name endears ; 
Our face is set, at last. 
To light of coming years: 

Thy song was sweet, — "tis sung; 
Thy lute is now unstrung: 
Wlien o'er 
Our prime of power, tlien we can court and 
charm no more. 

Spectre ! whose band did touch 

My heart, I prize tliy lore: 
Thy parting robe I clutch, 
I press thy hand once more : 
For sorrow (,f thy worth. 
Spirit ! I go not fortli 
To cheer 
With those wlio welcome in the roseate, youth- 
ful year. 



LINCOLN, 

HE PATRIOT, patient, pitiful, and pure; 
I Martyr to Justice and to Liberty: 
This is his gift — the Union stands secure; 
This is his praise — the millioned Slave is 
free 



®Ijf StriB #f M^t fflr000. 59 



HOWE. 

The Hon. Joseph Howe, Publicist, Editor, Orator, and 
Poet, wa-i born at the Northwest Arm, near Halifax, N. S., 
December 13, 1S04; and after a useful and brilliant career, 
in which he engaged the affection an^ admiration of his 
fellow-countrymen, and of many in other lands, he died at 
Government House, Halifax, while Lieutenant-Governor 
of hjs native Province, June i, 1S73. His statue, in the at- 
titude of addressing his constituents, — a highly character- 
istic one, ^—stands in front of the House of Assembly, the 
chief theatre of his career, and the place of his many tri- 
umphs. The references in the text are chiefly to the titles 
and subjects of his poems. 

TT(^HILE hangs the empty nest on leafless 
\kj bough, 

While flow the pleasant streams of Aca- 
die, 
While Stewiacko's vale is cloven by the plough, 
Or May-flowers creep beneath the budding 
tree; 
While sunset gilds Chebucto's summer sea. 
And bloometh white the cherry's wilding 
bough, 
While robins sing, — forgotten cannot be, 

The name of Joseph Howe. 

While ships sail westward from Britannia's 
shore, 

Bearing the voyager swiftly to his home; 
While skims the skater the lake's bosom o'er. 

Or the brown Micmac loves the wood to roam ; 
While Sable's sandy shore is swept with foam, 

Or Melville Isle lifts its forbidding brow; 



60 ®te S!r&0 ®f <ilF '^mm. 



While eloquent lips may charm, — shall not be 
dumb 

The praise of Joseph Howe. 

While men love Freedom with a constant love, 
And men hate Tyranny, or tyrants spuin; 

While scorn of meanness can their bosom move, 
While liearts with fires of poesy may burn; 

While the vast tides keep ebbing to return. 
Or flames the maple tree's resplendent bough. 

Our children's cliildren still shall proudly learn 
The fame of Joseph Howe. 

O MAIZIE ! 

©MAIZIE ! dear Maizie ! 
Our eyes are glad to see, 
For a little space^ your bright, sweet face, 
O soul and voice of glee ! 
Yon come ivhen the year is in its pi'ime^ 
InwUd-rose-and-daisy-time. 
O Maizie ! dear Maizie ! 

And must you leave us so ? 
A smile and a tear, you gave us, dear, — 
Heaven bless you, as you go ! 
YoiiHl come agc.in when the year's in the 

prime^ — 
In wUd-rose-ancl-claisy-time. 

SPRING'S FREEDOM. 

Y SOUL is borne, a winter-beaten boat, 
Upon the soft resurgence of the Spring, 
That lifts the bird anew on joyful wing, 



And sets Eartlis joyous creatures all afloat. 
Song, stirs witliin me, as the gurgling note 

Of hill-side runnels rippling thro' the fern ; 

And with what ease the ruby buds return, 

And pipings to tlie hyla's liquid throat, 
Delight comes to me, tho' unasked unbidden, 

Floating on vans of silken butterfly, 

Witli the abandon of tlie bickering bee: 
Fortli to tlie liglit a thousand beauties hidden 

Come peeping witli sweet spontaniety; 

Spirit and flesh seem one, — and they are 
free I 

TO GEORGE MARTIN. 

WRITTEN ON A POSTAL CARD. 

-^^HO' such a check to a siblime invention 
^) Of copious muse who measures by the 
yard. 
Yet do I prize thy limited dimension, 

Thou cream-hued postal card ! 
Like thee, I would be always neatand handy. 

Of all superfluous verbiage debarred: 
Then, Martin, wlien you have a word to bandy, 
Send me a postal card, 

CHAMPLAIN. 

THE PORTRAIT AND THE STATUE. 

In the Chateau de Ramezay, the former residrnce of the 
Governors ol Montreal under the old regime — now the re- 
positoiyof many historicnl souvenirs — is a portraitof Sam- 
uel de Champlain, whose name is so closely identified with 
American discovery and Canadian development. On the 
Dufferin Tei race at Qjiebcc slanris his statue, one of the 



62 ©Iff Itrte ®f ®f|if &tmB. 



monuments to which the visitor to that city will be direct- 
ed, with pardonable pride in the possession cf his dust and 
the inheritance of his fame. 

'^^HOU, Chateau Ramezay, contain, 
(^ Pictured on thy historic wall, 
The open features of Champlain, — 

The man to whom it did befall, 
From its long hiding to command 
The wealth of the Canadian land. 
A noble, kindly face had he, 

That not belied his heart, I ween ; 
A Captain of such high degree 

As Honor holds in his demesne, 
He was. — Behold his statue stand. 
High-reared in the Canadian land ! 
His name enchants thy rock, Quebec ! 

His name Columbia's waters bear: 
Serene he stands, who trod the deck, 

And pierced the gray wolf's dusky lair ; 
The fort, the wilderness, who knew, 
The caravel, and the canoe. 
Now, given to story and to song, 

Quebec stands guardian of his dust: 
His lineage did to France belong; 

His loyal soul is with the just: 
Stern War was his inheritance: 
He touched Religion with Romance. 
Others might hard and cruel be, 

Staining their path with needless gore; 
Magnanimous, humane, was he. 



3.1|j? MuhB ®f milt <&mBB. 63 

And just, and wise, and rich in lore; — 
Smit with the mountain's majesty, 
A son and lover of the sea. 

What matter tliough the Red-eross flag 

Hath long replaced the Fleur-de-lis ? 
The steps of Honor shall not lag, 

Secure in lasting fame is he ; 
His deed its lustre still assures, 
Long as the Continent endures. 
There by his nobly-flowing Eiver, 

At Gate of Commerce, let him stand. 
Still looking calmly seaward, ever. 

Toward his hardy Norman land; 
For Canada his dust enshrines, 
And in her heart his honor shines. 

TENNYSON. 

EAUTY of God in earth and sky and sea, 
The sweetness and refinement of the flow- 
ers. 

With elevation, strength, and majesty, 
Are deeply blent in his harmonious powers. 

VIOLETS. 

T(g\IOLETS, purple blue and white, 

Vy Ye, like morning, born of night. 

Whisper of the Spring's delight ! 

After frost and after snow. 
When the soft winds gently blow. 
Ye, like sweetest thoughts, do grow. 



S 



64 W^t l!r&0 ®f ©Iff &tmB. 



p 



stony brook and singing stream 
Answer to the sunny gleam, 
Winter now i^ but a dream. 
Meekly pale, sweet Violets ! 
Sunshine warms, and dew drop wets; 
God is near — lie not forgets. 
After sunshine comes the shade ; 
After bloom we violets fade ; — 
God's hand takes the form he made. 
After shadow comes the sun ; 
Spring, when wintry sands are run ; 
Only Life^ when Death is done. 

HOME DISCIPLINE. 

AREJSTS I know, so gentle and so mild, 
They can but spare the rod and spoil the 

child ; 

While yet, in part their error to redeem, 
They box the comj^ass, and they ivhip 
the cream. 

O BE THOU STRONG. 

V BE thou strong in an evil time, 
) O be thou strong and true ; 
For the niglit foreruns the dawning prime, 

And the earth is born anew : 
Tho' the Mammonite king be king to-day, 

The meanest that ever reigned ; 
The' the hope of the world he hath taken 
away, 
Tho' the heart of man he hath pained. 



®I|j? llrfiiB ®f ®I|^ €mm. 65 



O be thou strong in an evil day, 
O be thou firm for tlie riglit ! 
For be sure that Trutli will yet drive away 

The darkness of Error's niglit : 
Tim' the hosts of the Lord by the sword be 
slain, 
Yet their Master itcannot slay ; 
The Manmionite king shall notalways reign, 
But Clirist shall be King for aye. 

SUMMER ON THE PENOBSCOT. 

-^^OW is the golden dawning of the year. 
J^^ When vale and wood from wintry dreams 
C revive, 

And the all-gladdening sun Irs eastern hill 
Remounts, and doth his beamy coursers drive 
O'er the wide lieaven, till Eve her lamp doth 
fill 
And bid her star shine clear : 
How fair thy waters seem, O River dear I 
Now hurrying seaward with tliy voice of glee, 
From sylvan quiet places faraway. 
And woods where bleak Katahdin lifts hisf rey 
Bulk, hoar, and scarred with many a century. 

Sickle and scythe we last year laid aside. 
After the sheaves were gathered, wait they still; 

Yet rings the cheerful anvil the long day, 
And leap the shrieking saws in busy mill: 
Our hearts the Summer's joyance now shall 
fill, 
And bid us tu delay; 



Whilg now a thousand birds exult aloud, 

A strain of high delight, witli ours tliatblend.-, 
And, "-'from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,"' 
The Spirit of the Summertide descends. 

For now the dandelion's tliriftless gold 
Is squandered by the madside; in the field, 

Soon to be made with nodding daisies white, 
Tlie pure and perfect violet is revealed; 
The wild pear's silken blossoms now^ in\ ite, 
When we their charms behold. 
Our feet to tread where bannered woods are 
green, 
And starry flowers are curdled o'er tlie thorn; 
And all the dancing waters touch'd with morn 
In their great glory are wide-laughing seen. 

And then 'tis June, with orchards all im- 
pearled, 
And the pranked meadows waving deep and 
warm ; 
When with full heart dotli the rich Mother- 
world 
The liberal promise of the Year perform: 
The thick, dark maples yield their twilight 
gloom; 
And, with their vines close-curled 
About them, rise the green-clad elms, where 
bloom 
The wild rose hedges, gardens spreading fair, 
And the syringa, sweetening all the air, 
Gives Summer, with her brightness and perfume 



®te ^mm. 67 



The Swallow darts from liis eave-plastered 
cell, 
And like a circling arrow skims tlie lea ; 

In his cerulean vest the Bluebird sings 
And pipes at morn the plaintive, faint Pee-wee: 

Tiie Robin maketh choer ; the Oriole swings 
His elm-luing cradle well ; 
Lone in the dusk thrashes the Wliippoorwill ; 

The holy Hermit, in his cedar-vale, 

Tolls liis soft aerial bell ; and, 'Hail! ail hail!' 
Shouts the mad Bobolink, and lauglis his fill. 

Above yon bluffy baTiks and swirling tides, 
Hampden reposes in its tent of shade ; 

And where Penobscot's farther current glides 
The sylvan liomes of Orrington were made: 

Ah, in this watery vale wliat beauty bides! 
What bounty is displayed 
In all these doweriii;^ fields, tliese slopes that 
rise. 

As if in pride of his illustrious fame, 

Who left the legacy of his great name 
To Freedom's sons, then passed into the skies 

This gracious land behold ! Th' historic muse 
NV'itli lifted pen would write its lienors liere: 
Fair are these homes, bosomed 'mid flower- 
ing trees ; 
Fair tliese green banks and clustered groves ap- 
pear: 
(), rich and varied scene, and apt to please! 
Joyous, mine eye surveys 
Yon stately River' — Nature's glorious Child! 



68 ®hf SiriB ®f ®to €mm. 



Instinct with power, in tumult or repose. 
Bearing our high hopes with him as he goes, 
From yorembega and the Northern wild. 

O wild Penobscot! with thy thousand streams 
And all thy clustered lakes, divinely clear! 

Where fabled Kineo dwelt, and where on high 
Katahdin doth his rocky fortress rear, 

And wave his mapled banners in the sky: 
Whether tlie morning beams 
Brighten thy current, or the full-orbed moon 

Makes thee her mirror, thou art beautiful! 

Stretched on oak-sheltered headland, thou 
dost lull 
Mine ear, all fanciful lingering at noon. 

What fragrant memories cluster on thy shore ! 
The Norseman trims his weather-beaten sail. 

Coasting by creek and cove, all wonder-eyed; 
The tuneful Gascon leans upon his rail. 

As up the stream his caravel doth glide: 
And, lo! again once more. 
The dying Norman Knight his destiny 

Pursues, — the City of his radiant dream, 

Whose quest of that which here doth only 
seem 
Inspired the gentle Bard of Amesbury.* 

O thou most lovely River ! flowing free 
Through this green-hearted Maine !whoever yet 

Seeing, admired and loved thee not? For me. 
This will I say, who never can forget 

Thy cheery, rippling waters, lovingly 
So long I mused on thee ; — 

* Whittier's poem, " Norembega, " 



Thy bluffs, arbiitiis-scented, dark with pine; 

Thy winding current, bearing into view 

The argosies of nations, — the canoe. 
Light-laden, of the tawny Tarratine. 

The well-loved scene familiar he beholds. 
Who once again his boyhood doth renew ; 

Who looks on what he loved in that old time, 
The heart's tract, bright with sun and moist 
with dew, 

While haunting memories of his childhood's 
prime 
His spirit now enfolds. 
Ah, much Is changed ! yet Nature smiles on all, 

And the old scenes invite us as of yore! 

The Past — the Past ! she seemeth to restore, 
If for a moment we our youth recall. 

THE WINDS. 
O' HARP is the March wind as a thorn ; 
@1 But when it blows the lambs are born. 

When mild and soft the South wind blows, 
The moist seed germinates and grows. 

Thou gloomy East, our flowerets spare! 
Dark harbinger of frost, forbear I 

Blow, generous West Wind ! thou shalt fill 
The fisher's net with right good will. 

Blow, thou keen North ! our cheeks shall 
glow ; 
And in the maple sap shall flow. 



70 ilfi^ ltr&0 ®f Wl^t €xm^. 

Let the wind blow whicli way it will, 
It surely brings some blessing still 

COPEHNICUS AND DARV^'IN 

^;:^NE looked above, and saw the lieavens as 
W) new, 



A wideningUniverse, that flamed august; 
The other scanned the earth, and clearer grew 
The problem of the dew and of the dust. 

LIGHT AND SHADOW 

O^TARS above us ever shine 
(^\ Brightest in the darkest night ; 
^---' Diamonds down in deepest mine 
Out of shadow flash their ligjit: 
Spices braised the sweeter smell ; 
Shaken ttees take flrmer root ; 
And the oft-pruned vines excel 
In the richness of their fruit : 
Gold and silver cleaner show 

For the scourer's skill ; and, mark! 
How the fire-worms fairer glow. 

Hidden in the grasses dark! 
Juniper its odor gives 

Most profusely in the fire; 
And tlie check the palm receives 
Makes it broader spring and higlier- 
Sweeter seems the matron's smile, 

For the sorrow that she bore ; 
And the trodden camomile 

Will but spread and grow tlie more: 
Abstinence ^ives keener force 



To desire, indulgence cloys ; 
And our trials are tlie source 
Of our most abounding joys. 

THE NORTH-WEST ARM. 

AN INLET OF THE SEA, NEAIl HALIFAX, N. S. 

^r^ HE lingeringsunset flushes the warm sky, 
^) And leaves its track of splendor on the sea, 

As if an angel trod majestically 
Where in their trance tlie slumbering waters lie. 
Here in this lengthened cove the boatglides by 
The wood-encircled shores, with villas crown'd ; 
There seems to breathe a Sabbath peace pro- 
found, 
Or broken only by the jay's shrill cry. 
Ah, calm retreat, to nurse and nourish souls 
Spent with long travail, — toils that not avail ! 
Where Ocean, cornered in a cradle-nest, 
Forgets the leaping surf, the surge that rolls; 
Gives timely shelter to the battered sail, 
And instant puts a thousand fears to rest. 

THE CRYSTAL RILL. 

ET Sons of Folly lift on high 

The beaker flowing red with wine, 
And, 'mid unhallowed revelry. 

Pollute God's image, made divine; 
Yet will I drink, where wild birds sing. 

The nectar, beautiful and good. 
That gushes from the crystal spring. 

In Nature's sweetest solitude. 



72 ®l|]? Itrte ®f ®1|]^ @.tm^. 



O Spirit of the woodland rill, 

Thy face is very fair, I know ! 
And never, never didst thou fill 

This weary world with pain and woe! 
Ye haunt the sunset cloud at even ; 

Bright in the iris-arch ye dwell ; 
Ye soften all the lights of heaven ; — 

Ah, might ye slake the thirst of Hell ! 

Let others woo the siren-wine, 

In Pleasure's lap / was not nursed : 
The genial draught I choose as mine, 

I'hat shall allay, not feed, my thirst. 
The Ghosts of Shame and Misery 

Rise from the wine-press and the still : 
Then let me ever bide with thee, 

O Spirit of the woodland rill ! 

MILTON. 

^T^HREE hundred years ! yet He is bright 
^\ and strong; 

His Eden fadeless blooms; his Soul soars 
free ; 
And yet the ocean-billow of his Song 
Beats with the pulse of the eternal Sea. 

LOVE'S EXPRESSION. 

SE not of thought too eager, 
Be not of speecli too bold; 
For Love, though with an angePs tongue. 
Can never all be told. 



®I|f TMuM (if ilff ffir0B0<. 73 

It ebbetli from expression, 
It flies Time's vocal shore ; 

In silence o'er tlie secret heart 
It flowetli evermore. 

If Love's dear angel cometh, 
We bow with bated breath; 

Her feet make hallowed the floor, 
Though not a word she saith. 

O answer her, but softly, 
If yoii slie chance to greet ; 

While the white glimmer of her hand 
Makes bread she breaks more sweet. 

The dawn comes where she smileth, 
Her face makes bright the skies ; 

And ever the Eartli grows beautiful 
In the gladness of her eyes. 

LINES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE CARICATURE OF A POR- 
TRAIT. 

/^OOK at this face ! and therein see 
V-^The image and epitome 

Of all a mortal should not be : 

A visage cruel and severe, 

But no less coarse and mean, is here ; 

A presence, potent to suggest 

Eartli's darkest souls and hatefullest : 

Mammon, a-gloating in his den ; 

Fraud, trading on the faith of men ; 

Demos, who hugged his earthy hoard ; 



74 Wilt l!rte ®f Wilt §.mm. 

And Judas, who betrayed liis Lord; 
The Hell-cat's spawn, tlie Dragon's cub, 
Or Moloch, or Beelzebub. 

A brutal king in tawdry state. 
This is a presence man must hate ! 
A soulless face, it says to me, — 
" Who is 7ny neighbor! — What is heV 
In him the devotees of gold,— 
The haters of their kind,— behold ! 
Behold, the sons of doom and dearth. 
Who curse the country of tlieir birth I — 
The stony hearts, the men of pride, 
By whom the poor are crucified ; 
Who cheapen human flesh, — turn red 
With blood man's dear-bought daily bread; 
Freeze hearts to ice, curses compel, 
And feed with hate tlie Powers of Hell. 

Though Death should be to Horror wed, 
With every tliought a thouglit of dread, 
Yet will I bless the just decree 
Of dust and cold mortality, 
That soon must make an end of me. 
Since it may mark the sure decline 
And fall of such a tribe as thine ! 
For thou, huge Mammonite ! — so shoal 
Of thought, of bowels, and of soul, — 
A greater horror could be never 
Than that thyself might live forever ! 
But, ah ! how fast soe'er they die, 



®l|f MiAb ®f Wiii €mBB. 75 

The evil seed do multiply I 
You claim the earth, as at the first, 
And yet mankind is vex'd and curst : 
But swift your day is passing by, 
And Heaven must be your Judge, — not 1. 

If maddened men shall e'er arise. 
With fulmination to the skies, 
To brand your sons in bloody ire. 
And wrap your palaces with fire ; 
Howling anathema and woe 
Over wide wreck and overthrow ; — 
Crying, — '' We can no more endure ! 
Your ruin now is swift and sure ! " — 
If such .should be, it will be due 
To you^ alone, — 07' such as you ! 

REPEAT THE SONG. 

I have had ringing in my ears. and, when not in my 

ears, in my brain, and, I believe, in my heart, the Song 

of Teresa del Riego, which Eva has phiy ed over, and which 

May, with the other girls, has been singing : 

" O dry those tears. And calm those fears, 
Life was not made for sorrow ; 
'Twill come, alas ! But soon 'twill pass. 
Clouds will be sunshine to-morrow." 

The Journal of Pastor Felix. 

^ i /p^ DRY those tears," methought I heard 
\^ thee sing. 

And calm thy fearful heart, O lover 
mine ! 
'' Life was not meant for sorrow V then repine 
No more at pale misfortune's bitter sting. 



76 Ite SlAa ®f ®te §.mm. 



Mischance may come, and o"er tliy spirit fling 
Its midnight dolors, noontide shadows gray ; 
Yet, give thee clieer, methouglit I heard thee 

say, 
Some brightening morrow will tlie sunshine 

bring. 
O lift thine eyes to yon celestial blue ! 
Strike so the chords of thy bold harp amain! 
See how the clouds win glory of the sun ! 
So with thy sorrow, it shall brighten, too; 
There shall be rest to sweeten after pain, 
And peace eternal when the strife is done. 

THE FAITH-MEN. 

A SONG OF THE MARCIIINa MULTITUDE. 

T T(^E'RE COMING, coming up the way! our 
\KJ feet with steel are shod! 

We're coming up the old world-way, our 
cry has gone abroad, — 
The host whose cause is human weal, who fight 

the fight of God. 
Tramp — tramp — tramp— firm and free he 

our tread! 
To the height of man^s right must our army 

be led ; 
The luay and goal of each true soul our Mas- 
ter hath bestowed 
On all who seek it^ — ye ivho hinder^ CLE A Ji 
THE ROAD— CLEAR THE 
ROAD! 

O we are coming ! make ye room, — ye hateful, 
fearful brood, 



©Iff MwhB ®f TOjii? (&mBB. 77 

Who dream that safety lies with ill, who have 

not faith in good, — 
For the Sons of Faith, tlie Sons of Might— a 

-.marching multitude ! 
Tramp — tramp — tramp— firm, and free he 

our tread ! 
To the height out of sight shall our footsteps 

he led ; 
A kindling Star, not faint or far, hath o''er 

Lifers mountain glowed : 
Man's cause is sacred ; — ye who spoil it, 
CLE A R THE R OA D— CLE A R 
THE ROAD! 

O ye, who prey upon mankind, who sell the poor 

for hire! 
O ye, who burn man's blood and brain with 

flames of liquid fire! 
The Sons of God are on your track, — beware 

their righteous ire ! 
Tramp — tramp— tramp, — firm and freehe 

our tread ! 
To the height of Heaven^ s light and Truth's 

victory led ; 
Broad flames the day, clear lies theway,— 

the place of our abode, — 
Man\s goal of Honor ;—ye ivho bar it, 

CLEAR the ROAD— CLEAR 
the ROAD ! 



78 fflhf MltU (if ite fflf 000O 



fi 



THE WORLD. 

H, World ! for i/oii who can atone ? 
Whos tand at^God's high Throne for 



At Stephen still ye hurl tlie stone, 
Ye crucify tlie Christ anew 

FRANCES. E. WILLARD. 
>^^00 soon the grave hath claimed thy mortal 
^) form ; 

^■"^Too soon for us the palace of tlie sky 
Hath won its guest to high security, 
WhereTruth is radiant, and wliereLove is warm. 
Calm, steady, well-pois'd soul, set 'mid Earth's 

storm, 
Spending so lavishly life's sacred oil, 
Lighting to multifarious thouglit and toil 
Thy banded Sisters ! Love in thee was norm 
Magnetic ; Faith rose eminent in thee ; 
Nothing was wasted treasure God made thine. 
And must we say. Adieu ? Inspiring Soul ! 
Now must we miss thy graceful mastery ? 
Our tear- wet laurels lay we on thy shrine, 
And with thy latest word our heart console. 

A BALLAD OF THE THREE MARIES. 

>^WAKE ! it is near the dawning ! 
L^ I have heard the cock's shrill cry, 
J And the stars their golden grains dissolve 
In the cup of the azure sky : 
Awake, my sisters, and come with me ! 
From your tear-wet pillow arise ; 



®I|f MltM ®f ilff §.tmB. 79 

Take spices to sweeten the cliamberof death, 
And the conch where onr Master lies: 
Then come away, while the skies are gray 
And the bird of dawn up-flies. 

In vain she idly weepeth, 

Whose joys like manna decay, 
And tlie star of wliose hope I'ath waned and 
paled 

In the dawning's bath of gray. 
The purest and dearest of earth lies dead, 

Wlio godlike spake and wrought ; 
The Master has gone the way that lie said, — 

But a woman's love dies not : 
His image we II cherish, till memory perish 

He cannot be forgot ! 

Oh, He was fair of the fairest ! 

The loveliest Soul was He ! 
What is the Rose that in bharon grows, 

Or the Lily upon the lea ? 
Or what is the sheen of the Morning Star, 

In the morning's fragrant breath. 
When He who loved us is gone afar ? — 

77/67/ have done my Lord to death ! 
The blood of my slain Lamb flows amain, 

My hr.rt Dove quivereth ! 

Now snowy the walls of yon Temple, 
Whose towers the dawn makes gold ; 
Hut whiter and fairer that bruised shrine 
Lieth so lone and cold ! 



80 fflhi? Itrte ®f ®te €mm. 



And sweet is the Garden's odorous round, 
With its thousand flowers in bloom ; 

But sweeter His breatli, ere he went to His 
death, 
Who lieth in yonder tomb. 



But did He not say that, ere break of day, 
He should sunder its frosty gloom ? 

Oh, Sisters ! what awful music ! 

What trembling of sky and ground ! 
The heavens and the eartli might have passed 
away 
In that depth of thundrous sound ! 
O Sisters ! what lustre, surpassing far 

The sun's meridian ray ! 
What splendor and grace ! O'er his dazzling 
face 
The vivid lightnings play ! 

And see you not, dear sisters! 

Where His snow-white robe is spread, 
The Roman Guard, with their spears gripped 
hard, 
Are fallen down as dead ? 
Like a conquering King, in His majesty. 

He calmly sits to say : 
"Ye women who loved Him, approach and 
see 
Where once your Master lay : 
Zo, He is arisen! His empty prison 
Lies open to the day ! '" 



tm^. 81 



O, joy ! Thou art the MASTER ! 

Thou speak'st who came to save ! 
I deemed thee but the keeper of 

This garden and this grave. 
''MARY f '' Thou say'st . . Haste, Sisters, 
haste ! 

The blissful v7ord proclaim ! 
The tomb He breaks, and thereby makes 

The Cross a glorious shame ! 
Such wondrous love the Earth shall prove. 

Such power shall Heaven acclaim ! 

O, Prince of Peace ! — My Savior ! 

O glorious Morning Star ! 
The Gates of Hope to our lost race 

Thy rising shall unbar : 
The alien hosts shall press to kiss 

Thy flowing vesture's hem. 
Whose royal dress is RIGHTEOUSNESS, 

And LOVE, whose diadem. 
Thy chant we'll raise, 'mid endless days, 

Monarch of Bethlehem ! 



A SONG OF EXILE. 

^-^ LAND, of fragrant fields, and living 
\l)j streams ! 

O land of swelling waters ! unto thee 
I turn my eyes, — thou fair abode of dreams ! 

Thou blossom- country, girdled by the sea ! 
Again the linnet sings his song to me ; 



82 WI^AMuM m il|i? fflrjnim 

Again the Wliitetliroat warbles ; and once 
more 
I tread the chambers of the sun, made free 
From care, initiate to the mystery 

Of rushing tides Ly every sounding shore. 

Ye hills of home ! ye bonnie native woods 

Of mine own land ! are ye yet musical, 

As when I loved beneath your shade to dwell? 
Are your seats haunted by soft singing broods? 
Does the Woodpecker haunt your solitudes 
With his loud-tapping bill, — the golden-winged 

And the familiar? Are the lyres all stringed, 
Of your sweet-breathing pines whose interludes 

Between the whispering leaves so won mine 
ear? 

Or comes to yon the Bluebird's carol still ? 

Does Robin April's evening silence fill 
With the old cheery sound, so sweet to hear ? 
— So many friends are gone, it soothes my pain 

To think how yet thy singing birds remain. 

O Land I my Land ! to thee the Spring reti.rns; 

The Summer hastens on a thousand wings, 
With thy rejoicing birds ; and n)y h<^art yearns 

For all thy balmy, gentle ministe;ings. 
O sweet Acadian Land ! my Fatheis' Land ! 

The Land of the Arbutus and the Pine ; 
Haunt of the Robin, — memory-haunted strand, 

Can I forget that thou art mi n(\ — ay, mine? 
Loved, lost, estranged, — yet it forbids despair 
To think thy smiling vales, thy singing birds, 
are there. 



ilff Itrte ®f W^t §.tmB. 83 



I see tliee wlien the Dandelion blows ; 

In Buttercups and Daisies thou art fair ; 
I greet thee in the wild Brier and the Rose ; 

I S'.'e thee when thy sunset skies do wear 
TJ»e glowing garb that Summer only knows ! 
O Home ! loved Home, I may not visit more I 

And (), dear graves, where mine may never be! 
To you I send, — to ?/o?/, my native sliore ! 

The Message-b wallow and the Courier-Bee, 
To ask of thee thy wonted woodland-lore ; 
—Say, have the birds come rack to Acadie? 

THE HAPPIEST KINGDOM. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF KERNER. 

©NCE, when sat the German Princes 
Feasting high in royal hall, 
Praised for wisdom wealth and valor 
Each his land the first of all. 

Boldly spake the royal Saxon : 

'■'■ First is mine in wealth and power ; 
Silver seams run through my mountains, 

Gleaming gold — a priceless dower !" 
" But, behold my living largess ! " 

Spake the Ruler of the Rhine : 
'' Vales, all nodding to the harvest. 
Mountains, purple with the vine." 

"Cities teeming, larded cloisters," 
Ludwig spake, of Baiern's throne ; 
"These do make my sum of treasure 
Equal, surely, to your own." 



84 ©Iff MltM ®f ®lfj? <&tmB. 



Eberliard, the golden-liearted, 
Wurtemburg's beloved king, 

Said : " I cannot boast my cities, 
Nor my mines that silver bring ; 

" Yet, among her hills and forests. 
My heart's jewel lieth sure ; 

For there is no hut, no cottage, 
Where I may not rest secure.'" 

Then outs pake the Saxon Ruler, — 
He of Baiern, — he from the Rhine : 

" Thoifrt the noblest, tJiou'rt the richesti 
And the happiest land is thine !" 

THEODORE HARDING RAND. 

AlK is the morn ! Ah, yes, the Spring is 
■ V fair ! 

The dandelion vs^akes on the green lea ; 
The ploughman walks, and from his pointed 

share 
The furrow turns, while glancing swallows flee. 
See ! sun and wave have their old jollity ! 
Nature ignores our grief in smiling play. 
Ah ! yes, the Spring is fair, and fair the Day! 
But o'er the sunshine falls a sl.ade, to me: 
For, closed, the eyes that saw all beauty here; 
And stilled, the heart that felt the love of fill; 
Silent, that golden harp of tone sincere ; 
Gone, the old friendliness beyond recall ; 
Fallen, the pen of light that wrote no word. 
Save when that sea like Soul was by ils Angel 
stirred ! 



© 



H Mht fflr0B^. 85 



APRIL. 

O^HERE came an hour — a sullen hour, 
C^ When life was dull and dun, 

Where never smiled a hopeful flower, 

Or laughed a mirtliful sun : 
There seemed no solace, no deliglit. 

No vernal promise true. 
In any scene that met my sight, — 
And it was April, too ! 

There came a shower, — a sudden shower 

Of mingled snow and rain ; 
And then, within the radiant hour, 

A sun-burst flashed again ; 
Again the earth was strangely bright, 

The sky was strangely blue ; 
And all rejoiced who saw the sight, — 

And this was April, too ! 

KROISOS. 

The voice of Fame 
Alone reveals the lives of men that pass 
To .song and story. Kroisos' kindly heart 
Dies not. 

PINDAR. First Pythian Ode. 

TT(5\EALTH and Fame, thou know'st, O Pin- 
Other gifts are prized before them: 
Would we grasp them, Fate may hinder ; 
We may have them, yet deplore them: 
But a Spirit, heavenward moving. 
And a true heart, pure and loving. 

From all taint and bondage freed, 

Fortune these, and wealth, indeed ! 



86 U^^ MitM i§f ®l|j? €tmB. 

VVhile the fire-wheels of thine Art 

Flame in noble, liigli endeavor, 
Kroisos, of the kindly lieart. 

Dies not, — He lives on forev-er ! 
Happier theme no lyre befalls, — 
Filling all Fame's lofty halls 
With the sweet strains' nnison. 
In the praise of Love's dear Son. 

STATESMAN, AND POET. 

©F RANK and Learning, Pomp and Pride, 
we tire. 
When from their piles we pass, to note, 
by turns. 
The lowly birth, the high, sagacious fire. 
That mark the state of Lincoln and of Burns, 

THE SHIPS OF THE CZAR. 

T T(5\HAT has become of the Fleet ? 
\Kl Where are the ships of the Czar ? 
On, to the doom of defeat, 
Lured by their evil star ! 
Where, with War's thunderbolts laden. 
Sailing past Calpe, past Aden, — 
Where are they who went forth — 
The Armada of the North, — 
Like that Orcadian winds did sweep 
From the vexed bosom of the deep, 
Out of the lists of war ? 
What has become of the Fleet f 
Where are the Ships of the Czar? 



©Iff MwiB ®f ilfj? §.xmB. 87 



What has become of the Fleet ? 

The harbor of Kroiistadt they clt-ar'd; 
There were cheering thousand to greet, 
As Southward proudly tliey steer"d! 
Where are the battle-ships gone ? — 
Answer thou, Dai-Nippon ! 
For their wrath was directed on you, 
And the valorous deeds they should do 
Must the wide world amaze with wonder, 
And .pale tke Orient with their thunder; 
And Fame should their grandeur com- 
plete, 
And trumpet their glory afar ! 
What has become of the Fleef^ 
Where are the Ships of the Czarf 

What has become of the Fleet ? 

Where are the Ships of the Czar ? 
Did Typhon upon them beat? 

Or them did the rock-reef scar ? 
Did the Trident-king, in his pride, 
Flout and sweep them aside ? 
Or, did Vulcan, with deed insane. 
Rend them, upon the main ? 
Or did the tropic calm enthrall, 
Or fierce the tempest on them fall, 
Where stretclies the sandy bar, 
And the rumbling rollers beat. 
With sudden shock and jar ? 
What has become of the Fleet ? 
Where are the Ships of the Czarf 



88 W^t Itrte ®f ®!|j? Cr000. 

What has become of the Fleet ? 

Where are the Ships of the Czar ? 
What fate, if Togo they meet, 

Or if Uriu open the war, 
Will befal who issued forth 
Thro' the icy gates of the North ? 
What if, ere their voyage be done, 
The Sons of the Rising Sun 
Sweep out from some sheltering shore, 
With guns that like lions roar : 
Smite them with vengeance dire. 
And cordon them with fire ; 
And make the battle roar and hiss. 
Like those old Greeks at Salamis, 
Or Nelson, whose splendid star 
Flamed highest at Trafalgar ; 
Till witli blood and terrible heat. 

Whelmed in the flood they are ? 
What has become of the Fleet ! 

Where are the Ships of the Czar r 

What has become of the Fleet ? 

Where are the ships of the Czar '? 
Speak ! thou just God, from thy seat. 
And tell the round world where they 

are ! 
Such doom, when for greed they make 

war. 
Be ever for tyrants in store ! 
Down in the depth below. 
Where the corse and the kraken go ; 



®!|f MwM Wf il|f ^.tmB.- 89 

Wlif re tlie gardens of the deep 
In the pale gieen silence sleep ; 
Where the slavers bulk was rolled, 
And the galleon with its gold ; 
Where the reli.s and treasures lie, 
Tliat are lost to the earth and sky ; — 
There, with the slime and the dark, 
Where lightens no ray and no spark ; 
Where conies no sudden shriek or roar, 
Wliere battle-thui:ders s( und no more ; 
Weeds for their winding-sheet, 
Hatterd and broken in war,— 
There lies the Bomanoff I* leet! 
There are the Ships of the Czar ! 



JUNOh FAVORITE. 
An Old Fable in a New Dress. 

KAK JUNO, to vour favorite's request 
Attend I Thus did her petted Peacock 
plead : 

'' Richly thou hast endowed me; mark this 

breast. 
These painted fan-like glories broadly spread ! 
Yet, one more gift to bid my heart rejoice, — 
Give me tlie Nightingale's melodious voice." 

Darkened tlie brow of the oft-gracious Queen: 
" A liberal dower have I on you conferred; 

Whatstarry grace, what rainbow tint and sheen. 
Are proudly yours, my fairest, favoritt^ bird! 

Content you, then ; nor make a vain pretence 

In everything to hold preeminence."''' 



90 Ulff Itrte ®f Mlft ^tms. 

HYMN, 

WRITTEN FOR A CHILDS' FLOWER-FESTIVAL. 

-^[^YPES of our Savior, ye symbols so glori- 
^) ous, 

O'er the eartli scattered, or s'^t in tl'.e sky, 
Speak to our hearts with a language victorious, 
Tell us of Him who ascended on high ! 

Bring us His Lilies, tliat tell of His purity : 
Bring us His Roses, all red like His blood ; 

Bring us His Palm, type of rest and security, 
Home of refreshment, and (warden of (.od. 

Show us the Morning Star, clearest and bright- 
est ; 

Show us, at twilight. His gem o'er the sea ; 
Rise, O thou Rock, the wild billow thatsmitest! 

Star of our hope, and sure refuge, is He. 

Bread for us broken, our precious subsistence. 
Feeding our souls in the desolate waste ; 

Fount upon fountflowing upfrom the distance, 
When we are thirsty, delig})tii)g o' r taste. 

Fruit-beariug Vine, wide-extending tliy 
brandies. 
In tliee my life-giving Savior I see ; 
Flocks of the folds, scattered wide o'er tlie 
ranches, 
Unspotted Lamb, andGrK)d Shepherd, is He. 

Home of my childliood, my memory's fond 
centre. 
Portal beloved! thou sayest to rue. 



t MuhB ((if ite §.xmB. 91 



He i>ifhe />oo7-, and by Himthou may'st enter; 
He is thy Way; thy Companion is He. 

Types of our Savior, exalt Him, express Him ! 

Emblems of beauty, in sky and in sea ; 
Flowers of the field, in your blooming confess 
Him ; 

Bright with the smile of His welcome are ye! 

THE BRITISH FLAG. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF LOUIS FRECHETTE. 

A French Canadian father^ pointing to 
the Flag on the Citadel at Quebec^ thus ad- 
dresses his son. 



"I^^ 



EGA JiD, my son, — admire, " 
So spake to me my sire, — 

Yon banner, bravely borne, 
Wherever wakes the morn! 
Our Land,'' my Father said, 
"Hath prospered where it led 
Where'er that Flag may be, 
It dwells with Liberty. 

" That banner, son of mine, 
Is Britain's bright ensign ; 
Ever it ^vaves on high 
In unstained majesty ; 
Unfolding everywhere, 
It gladdens all the air; 
And over land and sea 
It floats triumphantly. 



92 Sbf llrte ®f ®te €xmB. 



'■'■ An eiglith part of the globe 
Its beauty dotli enrobe ; 
The ensign of command, 
It waves o'er many a land; 
Hiding, with color new, 
Some bit of heaven s blue ; — 
Yet ne'er obscures a ray 
In that serene of day. 

"Oer continent and sea 
It towers exultantly ; 
And ever,, where it flif'S, 
Go Art and Enterprise : 
See its red glow emerge 
From Ocean's farthest verge, 
While desert lands remote 
Behold it proudly float. 

"It waves o'er great and small ; 

Its impress is on all : 

To far-off wild and den, 

To tribes of savage men. 

It comes, to charm their sight, 

A harbinger of light, 

And to the world supplies 

Each art may civilize. 

" And in the march direct 

Of human intellect. 

Through mists and twilights gray 

Behold it lead the way ; 

Like dove, from ark released. 

After the flood had ceased, 



©Iff Itrte ®f ilfj? (ir0^;s. 93 

< )r guiding column high 
Upreared at Sinai. 

"That glorious Flag, of old, 
In days when men were bold, 
Hiainst ours was lifted high 
In martial rivalry : 
Then was it deemed the peer 
Of ours, and destined here 
To bring defeat — not shame — 
In the hot race of Fame. 

•' Ah ! then was prov'n its might 
In many a famous fight ; 
O'er many a sea unfurled. 
Men saw its thunders hurled ; 
Through troubled years, at length, 
It measured strength with strength ; 
Theirs — ours — alternately, 
Defeat and victory. 

"God's will alone may be ! 
— He doomed the Fleurs-de-lys 
Before that Flag to bow, — 
Secure and sovereign now : 
Though oft, by hill and glen, 
It wrought us sorrow then. 
It since, of old distress 
Hath taught forgetfulness. 

" And if, writh regal sway 
That banner float to-day 
Yon rocky rampart o'er. 



94 ®l|]? Strte (Sf M^t €tmB. 

Sacred to France, of vore, 
It waves benignantly 
Above a people free ; 
No faith doth it betray, 
It takes no riglit away. 

''Vanished, eacli gloomy form 
Of battl' and of storm ; 
Forget, as best we may 
In brightness of to-day, 
The sorrow of tlie past. 
Since Peace hath come, at last : 
And since, my Son, we have 
O'er us yon banner brave, 
Our Freedom and our Faith 
To cover from all scaith, 
Let us, whene'er we see. 
Salute it reverently. ''' 

— '' But, Father,— if I dare 
To question, — yet forbear 
And pardon, if I err : 
Which Flag must we prefer f 
Say, is there not ONE, yet ? 
Our own — Tuust tue forget f'' 
''' Ah^ that ! " exclaimed my Sire, 
His moist eyes flashing fire, 
While deep his accents spring, 

'' That— THAT !^the carte of cartes ! 

The Lily of our hearts ! 

— ThaVs quite another thing ! 



ll^f MuhB ®f Slfj? €rj000. 95 



Our homage we confer ; 
F(j?' lie must bow^ who >if-es, 
A nd kiss if on his knees J " 

THE HHOOK. 

^hou brook, by wliich my childish feet 
I Were wont in infancy to run. 
Flowing "mid fern and meadow-sweet, 

The fairest underneath the sun 1 
Tlirough pastures rich in mint and balm. 

And where the flowering laurels grow, 
VV ith gurgling sound, 'mid evening's calm 

I followed still as thou didst go. 
Where alders overhang thy wave, 

Where stately cliffs frowned o'er thee 
high, 
Still dost thou chant thy cheery stave — 
Thy soft, unending lullaby. 

Here, 'mid tlie August lieat, I came 

To bathe me in thy crystal pool. 
When sank to rest day's sultry flame. 

And I had been released from school. 
Here by the hour I loved to sit. 

And pore upon thy dimpling tide: 
Rippling and quivering at my feet. 

In whorls and eddies would'st thou glide. 

The flowers are thy companions still. 
Thy guardian birches o'er thee lean; 

The moon her golden round doth fill. 
And in tliy glass is mirrored seen. 



96 ffilff MlxM ®f Wilt <&x^m. 

Flow on, as musical and fleet, 

streamlet, once my pride and caie ! 
Thy waters not less pure «>r swe^t, 

Thy flowery borders not less fair. 
Tho" youth and home and friends are gone. 

And I from thee am far away, 
] hear thy voice in that far dawn, 

Thou freslienest in my heart to-day. 
O, brook ! "Thro' shade and sunny gleam," 

Along thy track of bounding joy 
Still flow, the same delightful stream 

1 followed wlien I was a boy ! 

THE HILLS OF SCOTLAND. 

A Scottish maiden, sick and dying, who was making 
her journey from America to her native land, was 
brought on deck by her attendant just at sunset. " Is the 
scene beautiful .'"' they inquired, who gathered around her* 
" Yes," she answered, "but I'd sooner see the hills of Scot- 
land." Then, closing her eyes for a moment and opening 
them again, her face took on an expression of gladness, and 
she exclaimed : — " I see thein noo, an' aye they're bonnie ! 
— they're bouiiie ! But I never kenned before that it was 
the hills of Scotland where the prophet s;iw the horsemen 
and the chariots; but I see them a', and we'realmost ther !" 
Tht-n with a smile of peace she closed her eves to open no 
no more on earth. 

H ! the bonnie hills o' Scotland ! 

Shall I ever see them mair, 
Standing at the gates o' sunset, 

Purple in the golden air? 
Hasten! Oh ye wliite wings, hasten! 
Glide the widening waters o'er! 



®f|if MlxhB ®f ©{if §.mBB. 97 

I would see the hills o' ^jcotiand. 
Tread my aiii, my native slu^re. 

()li, the bonnie hills o' Scotland! 

There I wand»'red \\ lien a cliild, 
'Mid the lilenswi' tiimblin' luirnies, 

\ri" the heather bloomin' wild: 
Noo my lieart is faint and droopin', 

An' this bosom sair wi^ pain ; 
Yet, the bonnie liills f^' Scotland, 

I wad look on them again I 

Oh, ye liills ! ye hills o" Scotland ! 

I hae lo'ed ye, greetin' sair ! 
Noo I see ye in the sunset. 

Ye are bonnie — ye are fair ! 
Ha I the horsemen o' the Prophet, 

An' the chariots I see I 
O, ye holy hills of Heaven, 

Ye are fairer still, to me! 

BELLE BORNE BKOOK 

SILLERY, QUEBEC. 

/^ANCIES innumerous hover round thy name, 
S^ Thou silver tliread of music wiming down 
To kiss the haunted waves that lisp of fame. 
Lapping gray crags by a Canadian town; 

Throned on a fortress-rock higli in the North, 
Long-while tlie seat of Gallia's sons of war ; 

From whose worn walls of old Cliamplain look d 
forth, 
Where Wolfe, expiring, deathless hon<'rbore. 



98 ®l]ije Itrte ®f m^t <&xmB. 



What pr(nid-lit eyes survey tlie spacious scene, 
And trace St Charles ah)n^ his verdant sliore. 

Cheered by liis glow, and Sillery"s jiroves of 
green, 
Where, liid in woods, thou sportest evermore! 

What fairy presence dwells apart witli thee, 
() Belle Home Streandet ! listening to tliy 
voice ? 

Mingling thy ripj)les so melodiously, 

It seems thou hast a soul that can rejoice ! 

Impregned with sweets from flowery meadows 
won, 
Or woodsy odor, where the grove is high, 
Thou court^st tlie Mayflower's sliade, or in tlie 
sun, 
Glancest at trillium or blue vitdet, nigh. 

Oft, with continuous lauglHer thou dost lun 
In mimic cascades down eacli st( ny stair ; 

Flinging tliy crystal joy to air and sun. 
Changing to gladness whatsoe'er is fair. 

Thou sing'st aloud to Heauvoir, gay demesne. 
In innocent mockery of the morning birds; 

By Spencer Grange winds on thy creeping sheen 
Fond as the feeding flocks or dreaming herds. 

So clear thou sing'stwlien Sage and Poet meet, 
Thy bickering beauties they must come to 
trace ; 

While many a legend sliall tlieir Cuide repeat, 
Tlie lov'd Historian of that sylvan place.* 

* Sir James Macpherson I.e Moyne, of Sjiencer Grange, 
the genial doyen and chronicler of Quebec, 



. Ilff MivhB i§f U^f §.mm. 99 

Witli tliee the vesper cliiire is lieard afar ; 

With the soft Angelns thou dost tinkling 
glide ; 
While the sun lights thee, or tlie evening star, 

And pale Koniance sits liovering by tliy side. 

8ome gentle nun has found tliee her lov'd bourn ; 

Here fond eiianior'd lovers wont to stray ; 
Here the quaint sch^largreets the dewy morn, 

Sprinkling from flelicon the infant day. 

No \v newly hath the Spring 1 hy sprite released. 
Loosed from dumb frost thy gleesome wave 
wins free; 

Tiie festival of song, the flowery feast, 
And the long sunshine, bring thy jubilee. 

The loft^-swinging pines their nursling greet; 

Replenished, the green maples thee espouse; 

The household robin and the brown thrush 

sweet 

Make thee their answer from the whispering 

boughs. 

Perhaps, at Marchmont, from some hasty brink 
Thou'lt take the swallow's kiss, wild-answer- 
ing 

The tipsy tumbler, saucy Bobolink, — 
Leaving that wanton trifler on the wing. 

With gay caprice the golden butterfly 
Shall flicker o'er where thy pure eye may see ; 

The insect-dragon dart thy pools a-nigh. 

And near thy shallows drone the burnie-bee. 



100 wilt Itrte ®f ®l|> &mm. 

What tones may reach thee tlirou^li thy guard- 
ian trees, 
Where thon thy mystic converse holdest all, 

From the rude clangorous world borne on the 

breeze ? 
-Or dost thou hear men's voices wlien they call? 

The thundrouscity, deaved from morn to night 
Where clamorous throngs fill all the walks of 
trade; 
The echoing gun, from 6tadaeona"s height,-- 
Say, can they pierce thy calm, contiguous 
shade ? 

Nay, for however Man may drudge and groan, 
Like some strong Spirit where Time holds no 
sway, 
A thing of joy and liglit, content, alone. 
Unstained, thou holdest youth's perpetual 
vfny. 

And by thy side the wiglit of weariness 
May find the unity of tranquil thought, — 

May breathe the healing of tliy wave, and bless 
The harmonizing spell by Nature wrought. 

Not missionless, through Sillery's green domain 
O Belle Borne Brook ! tliou wanderest, wild 
and free ; 

To gentle hearts with sylvan dreams again 
Thou comest, and their singing is of thee! 

SONG. 
-^^HERE was a lass I chanced to meet, — 
^) A lass so modest and so rare. 

She did not knovr her voice was sweet. 
She did not know her face was fair ; 



®I|i? llrte ®f Mlft (fflra^H. 101 

lint, ah, the beauty of lier mind ! 

It was a gift beyond compare : 
Her eyes were of the heavenly kind. 

And h)ve ah)ne engaged her care. 

There was a Jass I chanced to meet, — 

Her music met tlie stifferers moan ; 
To deeds of mercy flew her feet, 

For needy souls she lived alone. 
Ah ! Heaven has pity ! Heaven is meet 

For such as she, — and she is there ! 
She did not know^ her voice w^as sweet, 

8he did not know her face was fair. 

THE UNKECOGNIZED POET.^ 

^p^HI S it not Song, the lasting Silence saith; 
^) No lieart is moved, no mind convinced of 
^^ Art ; 

In this wide world of loveliness no part 
Hastthouto show thefruitandpowerof Faith. 
O, world-scorned Dreamer ! haunted by the 
wraith 
Of Hope that never may to Deed mature. 
No firm response shall e'er thy heart assure 
Ere thou go out and down to Letliean Death. 
Why longer with the Makers, then, appear ? 
Art is to-^ high, too subtle Song, for thee ; 
The public favor is a bird too shy ; 
Nor even the Critic worthy of his sneer 

Now deems thee. Ah ! indeed, this well 

may be ! 
Yet hearts must hope and dream, or else 
they die. 



102 1I|]? MixhB (if SIfi? &xmB. 



ONE MORE. 

NE more caress, darling, before we part ; 
Mine eyes discern not far the silentsliore ; 
Soon me thou'lt press no longer to tliine 
heart, 

My voice shalt hear no more. 

''Oh, love, so long as love to thee remains ! '' 

Together once we read that tender lay; 
Yet never seemed that bliss which never wanes 
So sacred as to-day. 

Ah, love me but the more that I must go 

From tliine enfolding arms ! Tislovel prize; 
For I would taste its sweetness here, then know 
Its rapture in the skies. 

Mind not the lonely pillow thou must press. 

Think not of solitude, with many a tear ; 
In nights of gloom, with wakeful tenderness. 
Shall I not still be near ? 

Yea, I shall come, if any way may be ! 

Thy love — the dearest treasure I possess — 

Thinkest tliou that, when 1 am reft from thee, 

I can esteem it less ? 

Thou art mine own ; of thy possession sure, 
Here, none coulcf ever win my heart away ; 
In yon unchanging world Love dwells secure;— 
There may we live for aye. 

One more caress, darling, before we part ! 

Mine eyes discern not far the silent shore: 
Love me ! for soon thou'lt press me to thy heart. 
Soon hear my voice, no more. 



®te JMlthB (if ®te &.xmB. 103 



McPflEKSON'S ENTREATY. 

John McPherson, a poet and schoolin.ster of rural Nova 
Scotia, in the early part o the last Ceiiturv. is the subjrct 
of this song, and is supposed lo be the singer. Having 
fallen into a decline, and living on the verge of destitution, 
and in a miserable unhnished house, he became tenipoiar- 
'iy unbalani od, and during a paroxysm of his madness be- 
haved so violently that his wife fled from him to take ref- 
ug«- among her friends. Upon coming lo himself, and re- 
alizing his forlorn situation, in the utmost spirit of peni- 
*^ence he wrote to her a poetical epistle, which contained 
this pathetic appeal : 

O, surely thou wilt not delay, 

While I ^hall listen for thy feet ! 
^ly he^irt goes out thy step to greet, 

O loved one, who wilt cheer my home, — 
Will make remembered sorrow sweet. 
And lighten every care to come. 
She came, in answer to his call, for she had no purpose 
to abandon him ; though in a b;ief period his dis; ase cul- 
minated and the longer separation that comes with deafh 
ensued. 

>^H! MUIST we sever, dearest, forever, 
Lj Aitev the years we together liave known? 
J '^ I, who would bless thee, clasp and caress 

thee. 
Cry, — Wilt thou leave me to languisli alone? 

Ne'er would I grieve thee, — I, who did weave 
thee 

Passionate songs, ere my harp was outworn: 
Sunken, sad-hearted, liope long departed, — 

Ah, but fh(m knowest how deeply I mourn ! 

Once I aspired, dared and desired ; 

Laurels for singing to win thee I tried: 



104 ®l|]? MlxM ®f ®l|f &mm. 



Fancy, brifiht rover ! thy fond dream is over ; 
Sorrow and solitude humble my pride. 

My faint fingers tire and fail from tlie lyre; 
Spent, its wild music and innocent glee : 
Yet come the years, bringing laurels for siug- 

Harp of Acadia ! — and honors for thee. 

Fallen this gloom in, thou canst illumine 
My liorror of darkness, and succor r\\ woe: 

Come ! and dream over days when thy lover 
Sang in the sunsliine of love, long ago. 

Ah ! can I move thee, — i, who still love thee? 

Flutters with hope my now penitent breast ! 
Canst thou not see, love, my lieart beats f«>r 
thee, love ? 

Deem me not cold, wife, but sorely distrest! 

Now my wild yearning for thy returning 

I breathe through my harp, — Oh, vouclisafe 
me reply ! 

Then, if thou hearest, — sweetest and dearest! 
Glad in thine arms let me hasten to die ! 

CUBA. 

^^^EAR, O my brothers! hear that cry of woe 
iSj Whicli deepens ever on the Southern 

^ breeze ! 

Still Cuba weeps, and still the coral seas 
Redden and sigh to feel her overthrow : 
lerne's* and Armenians doom tliey know, 

On whse starved lips our bread is sweet : 
but wine 

* Ireland. 



©if]? Mlt^B ®f ilff <&mBB. 105 

And manna to the suuls that starve and pint- 
Is Freedom, tliat we prize and cherisli so. 
Cruel Hispania ! What tho\ crushing still 

Our Island J^ister, tliou on us dost frown ; 

Yet can Columbia turn her eyes away, 
And, tliv rapacious pleasure to fulfil. 
Leave her own kind for thee to trample down, 

In lustful wrath to famish and to slay ? 

HOOD. 
>^pr^HE tearful tender songs he sung, 
^^ His rose-hued fancies, dew-impearled. 
Are evernu^re embalmed among 

The morning-memories of the world. 

Ah, gentle-bosomed Bard ! he knew 
Two angels met to bless his birth, — 

To scatter flowers, to sprinkle dew. — 
And one was INiusi:, one was ISIirth. 

Now Puck, now Ariel, breathed his strain. 
And wove their sparkling gossameres 

Above the purple flower of Pain, 

And by the streaming fount of Tears. 

The creatures Shakespeare's magic knew, 
Once known on Avon's haunted shore, 

Meet in the moonlight of his view, — 
Yet not the gleeful sprites of yore. 

The greenwood and the mould'ring hall 
Are quick with many an eerie tone : 

We answer to his pensive call. 

Who speaks the things C)ur hearts have 
known. 



106 W^t lilthB (©f ®l|f ®mm. 

How quick, how warm, his pulse would 
beat, 

When Pity stirred his genial lire ! 
How would his pleading pen entreat, 

When wrong evoked his tearful ire ! 

And hear him breathe a woman's sigli ! 

Ah, >[agdalen ! did bard deplore 
The fallen fair so piteoiisly, 

With such sweet eloquence, before ! 

While morn revisits his lov'd hills, 
And lights his cottage chamber nook ; 

While pensive Autumn overfills 
Our hearts, as rain the meadow brook ; 

While misery dotli compassion move. 
While beats the tender heart and good. 

Be blessing on the Hard we love, — 
The gentle shade of Thomas Mood ! 

BURNS. 
TT(^HEN he was born the Muses all were 

\kJ ""'^^ 

With joy, this prodigy of Song to see : 
Art, smiling said, '' He is my darling child ! "" 
"O, no, " cried Nature, ''He belongs to me!" 



fi 



®te MlthB (§f Milt €mBB. 107 

THE THRUSH 

HP]ARD ON THE PEMAQUID. 

r ARK ! 'tis the Hermits evening note, — 
) The Thrush, in leafy thicket hid ; 
His vesper carol— liear it float 

Across the rushing Pemaquid ! 
But, oh ! my Love — my Love is near I 

Thro' the still air her voice ovitrings ! 
The Thrush himself may pause to hear 
Her bird-like carol, vehen she sings ! 

The crystal stream makes sweet the air; 

At last the vesper Thrush is still : 
Another chanter now is there, — 

Hark ! hush! . , . it is . . . the Whip- 
poor-will ! 
But, oh ! my Love, my Love is near! 

More clearly now her voice outrings ! 
And bird and stream may pause to hear 

Her bird-like carol, when she sings! 

THE DOVES. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF GAUTIER. 

^^j PALM TREE lifts its slumberous shade ; 
Beneath it three small graves are made: 
With siiaft erect, with soft green plume, 
It stands, sole warden of the tomb. 

When Evening cometh, presently 
Home to its shade the Doves will fly: 
Through the warm night 'tis their sweet 

lair; 
Thev cluster close and nestle there. 



108 ®t|ir MixM ®f II|i? &tmB. 

Then, fluttering out at morning-tide, 
Like a white necklace scattering wide 
Its loosen'd pearls, they mount on high, 
And vanish, lost in the deep sky. 

My Soul is like that green palm tree: 
Such dove-like fancies come to me ; 
They fall from Heaven at close of day. 
But fly with morn's first beam away. 



VICTORIA. 

He set the royal crown upon her head and made her queen. 

Esther, 2:i7. 

OD made her Queen: In a long line she 
came, — 
Such as had known the splendor of a 
throne ; 
And England's realm was early named her own. 
While the world uttered her auspicious name. 
Yet did God make her Queen : His sacred flame 
Inspired with purest love her virgin heart ; 
Yea, wisdom to her choice did He impart. 
And honor, never to be turned to shame. 
The Isles looked up to her ; she was enthroned 
In all affections ; virtue to her reign 
Gave added lustre ; her sweet face, serine, 
Chief of all womankind, her people owned ; 
Kings, poets, did her reverence. Not in vain, 
God, and a loyal Nation, made ]\vt Queen ! 



iI|L^ MuhB ®f W^t <^tmB. 109 



THE GRAVE WITHIN MY HEART. 

A kinswoman, who bore my name, perished in an open 
boat of cold and thirst, off the coait of Patag^onia. The burn 
ing of her husb and's ship was the occasion of this dire ne- 
cessity. I have referred to this event in an earlier writing : 
With eyes dilate, we shaied their dumb dismay 
Who, on long-rolling South Atlantic seas, 
Fled their doomed ship, and, streaming on the breeze, 
Sa\v the swift mocking' fires light up their ^vay. 
She died in the arms of her husband, the last accents from 
her lips being-,—" Oh, Harding ! I am so cold !— so cold !" 
She was buried in the sand on the Patagonian coast, so near 
the low-water mark that the returning tide might cover her 
grave, and so protect the precious remains from the ma- 
rauding savages. The existence of two little girls alone 
kept him from despair, und enabled him to make his way 
home; but he never emerged from the shadow into which 
his lite had fallen. 



^^HERE is a grave, so far, so bleak, and low, 
(^ That there my wandering feet may never 

go*; 

'Twas made witii trembling in the cold sea-sand ; 
Yet was it dug, tho^ in a foreign land, 

Deep in my bleeding heart. 

There is a grave, so dank and dark and lone ! 
And into it my life of life has gone ; 
Yet one is known to sighing and to tears, 
That holds the buried treasure of past years, — 
It lies within my heart. 

There no white stone shows glimmering thro' 

the night, 
There no soft star drops down its pitying light, 
There stands no cypress or funereal yew ; — 



110 ®I|i? Itrte ®f W^f <^mBB. 

Yet Memory steeps with penitential dew 

That grave within my heart. 

Oh, Wife ! thy dying moan dwells in my ear I 
Oh, Wife ! thy perished face so dread, so drear, 
'Neath those rude sands on Patagonia's slicreJ. 
Beside that grave I linger evermore, 

For it is in my heart. 

Faint hope, weak will,— would ye were buried 

there 1 
Reproach of self, and sadness, and despair ! 
The good, the fair, lie buried deep below ; 
— Ah ! would that something green might on it 

grow,— 

That grave within my heart'. 

All things I hear, and all I feel and see. 
Are mingled with that dreadful memory ; 
That dismal Sea leaps in my dreams apace ; 
My burning ship flames weird — I see her face. 
Her grave — within my 
heart ! 

In vain I cry, — silence and night succed ; 
I chafe these bonds, this heart must inly blewd ; 
There is no answer but the winds that rave ; 
There is no resurrection from that grave, — 

The grr ve within my heart! 

THE EPITAPH OF KEATS. 

TT(^A8 his name writ in water? Time 
\KJ has shown 

That a vain epitaph, and without cause: 
Now let one come to write upon the stone, — 
Alas ! he, dying, sadly deemed it was ! 



ilff MlthB ®f M^f ^tmB. Ill 



THIS .\L!S() IS VANITY. 

I dr.-amed !;isr nig-ht that Torqufuuida got the devil in 
among- his heretics, who broke loose and strcched the old 
Arch Inqui-itor upon his «nvn rack. I blush to ^cknow- 
ledge so much latent wickedness, but I was treated to a ve- 
ry great dilicacy, and I have ever been fond ol" music. How 
his reverence did squcei ! And Satan did but smile, and 
remark : •' You mu:-^' admit, hfily father, that this a whol- 
ly unnecessary ,ind profith ss operation ; but vou went into 
the business, and i will see to it that vou 'jet vour share." 
JOURNAL OF Pastor Felix 



^'ol 



AINLY rests the World its liopes 
its Caesars and its Pttpes : 
This, O Hrnno ! 
VVeli do you know : 
This to you is obvious, Ovid, 
Ilanished to the Thracian wild ; 
Hiingerinij, when your heart was moved, 
• For the love of wife and child : 
This you did too keenly feel, 
Prisoner of the Hastille 1 

This full plainly you may set*, (>, 
Galilei (iaiileo ! 

Grreat i yranniis Pontifex I 
Why will vou the nations vex ? 
Quisitore Clericus, 
Whdf in 'if t/mv ask of uaf 
Sayeth Hugo : 
"^till will you go 
On to rack and to imprison us, — 
That old cniel, foolish business? 
Would you seize us, proscribe, libel, 



112 M}t MlrhB ®f ®1|]? €tmB. 

Cleave our bones, and burn our Hible ? 
In tlie name of Him above us ! 

( Manes of Latimer and Guyon ! ) 
Do you hate us ? do you love us ? 
Torquemada — bitter shrew 
Of the rack, the torch, the screw,— 
What is if you propose to do 
With the Eagle and the Lion f 

Vainly rests the World its hopes 
On your scaffolds, racks, and ropes ! 
They're no use, — 
Are they, Huss ? 
What have they done ? — I would ask all,— 
Campanella — Colon — Pascal ? 

Mitred Dullness ! can you tell hey ? 

What fool's whip once scourged Prineili? 
Can ye persuade the World that ye 
Are Arbiters of Destiny, 
And Masters of Eternity ? 

May not such as well be spared 

Wycliffe, — Tyndale, — Bonnivard ? 
Nay, but scaffolds, racks, and scourges, 
Multiply Faith's Boanerges ! 
Nay. but Truth flames broader, higher, 
Borne aloft on wings of fire ! 

Stake or stone do make it free, O, 
Galilei GaliletT! 



Slfj? MuhB C®f ®Jl|j? fflra^a. 113 



VVHKN DOCTOR LUTHER CAME. 

Ami yon smw Luther? 'Tis a wondrous soul ! 

Browning. Paracelsus. 

4 4 /T^UT HER, come quickly! ' So the mes- 
\^ sage saith: 

''Melanchthon lies upon the bed of 
death." 

The Friend is liere: how still the sick man 

lies! 
With what blanched face, and with what 
sunken eyes. 

"Let me arouse him." For a little space 
Melanchthon gazes into Luther's face. 

" Ah! Luther, is it you?^But let me cease 
From this world's anguish, to depart in peace." 

"We cannot spare you, Philip, " eagerly 
Luther replies, — "We cannot let you die!" 

Then Luther kneels: faith bears triumphant 

sway, 
Meanwhile he prays, as he knows how to pray. 

During the space of half an hour they hear 
Strong cries out-poured in the Eternal Ear. 

Then to the bed, as one who would command, 
He goes, and takes his comrade by the hand. 

Melanchthon sighs: "Ah, Luther, let me go!" 
But, "No!" cries Luther; "No! Melanchthon, 
No! 



114 M^t ItrSB i§f it|]? §.tmB. 

" Death must yield to our need, — we cannot let 
You go to-day, — we cannot spare you yet ! " 

Then says the Doctor : ''He liath eaten nought: 
Bring him some broth." Tlie nurturing drauglit 
is brought. 

''Take this, Melauchthon, — drink if /'' Luth- 
er cries, 
And strives to help the sick man to arise. 

" It is in vain I " so doth Melanchthon sigh ; 
" Bless me, dear Lutlier, and then let me die V 

"Thou shalt not die ! " cries Luther, stern 

as fate ; 
" Drink this ! or thou art excommunicdte ! " 

Melanchthon drinks -a long, deep draught; 

revives. 
Rises, and through laborious years, survives. 

So Death retires, vs^ho bears but partial sway; 
While God, and Life, and Luther, win the day. 

RACA. 

'Tis easy to ciy "Raca."— John Reade. 

For one hypocrite who is decked with the honors of 
virtue, there are twenty good men who suffer the igno- 
miny of vice; so well disposed are individuals to trample 
upon the fame of their fellow-creatures. 

ET not your outcry be too long or loud. 
Ye Levite-Gruardians of Truth's sacred 

shrine. 
If some with garments soiled press in the 

crowd, 



SUff ItrfiiB ®f TOfi? fflra^a. 115 



[f tliei-H are sp )ts where beams were meant to 

shine: 
Zeal, without knowledge, mars the House 

Divine, 
When therewith mingles Pride's most subtle 

leaven ; 
Wormwood is mixed with sacramental wine, 
And chill invades the softest airs of Heaven. 
He who set Truth and Justice in the earth 
Gave .Mercy, too, and Charity, to man: 
Have care, uprooting Error's monstrous birth, 
Ye not disturb the Garden's sacred plan. 
Gird ye that Falsehood Honor's garland wears? 
Weep o'er tlip Just wiio, crushed and scorned, 

despairs I 

THK MAKINC; OF MEN. 

[President Harri>^, of the State University, at Orono, 
Maine, while delivering- an address before the Legislature 
at Auf,^ust;i, asked the question : "What are the farms fit 
for, if not for raising boys?" His words, being misun- 
derstood at first, provoked dissent; butthey ^vcre subse- 
quently understood and applauded.] 

The best political economy is the care and culture of 
men. — Emekson. 

/^ WORD to a restless people in a, fast and 
L^ feverish Age: 
J A perfect manhood is better than any 

wealth or wage. 
"Some are for gold, some, <jjlitter; but tell me, 

tell me, when 
Will we stand for the Farm and the College 

that go to the making of Men? 



116 ®l|j? MuM C©f ilfi? €mBB. 



Yes, what is the old Farm fit for ? The word 

was wisely said: 
There may be stumps in the pasture, and the 

house may be a shed ; 
Yet what if a Lincoln or Garfield be here, in 

this boy of ten ? 
And what should the Farm be fit for, if not for 

the rearing of Men ? 

'Tis a scanty soil for the seeding; yet here we 

win our bread, 
And a stout heart may grow stronger where 

plough and harrow are sped: 
Then break up the high, bleak hillside, and 

trench the swamp and fen; — 
For what should the Farm be fit for, if not the 

rearing of Men ? 

The crop by the frost is blighted — a niggard 

the season seems; 
Yet the ready hand finds duties, and the 

youthful heart has dreams: 
The Bar or the Senate to-morrow — to-morrow 

the Pulpit or Pen; 
For what is the Farm best fitted, if not the 

rearing of Men ? 

Or, what if our lot be humble, and we on the 

Farm abide ? 
There is room for noble living, and the realm 

of thought is wide: 
The sword outflashed in the battle liath honor 

we all may ken ; 



©If]? Itrte (if ilfj? fflir0Bs. 117 

But is there no praise and no glory to go with 
the making of Men ? 

Is our life all in gold and silver, in clamor and 

splendor and pride? 
Is the Heart's rich treasure nothing, and the 

Mind's high guerdon, beside? 
In the mine of the Soul lies our fortune, — let 

us quarry it deep again; 
Let us stand for the Farm and the College, 

that go to the making of Men! 

We tread the hills that the Holy, that the 

Beautiful hath trod ; 
We till the fields of the Infinite, we dress the 

gardens of God: 
The Seer, the Sage, and the Poet, they choose 

it again and again ; — 
For what is the old Farm fit for, if not the 

rearing of Men? 



i^ 



THE LONELY PINE. 

EMOTE, upon the sunset-shrine 
Of a green hill, a lonely Pine 
Beckons this hungry heart of mine. 

" Draw near," it always seems to say, 
Look thither whensoever I may, 
From the dull routine of my way ; — 

"I hold for thee the heavens in trust ; 
My priestly branches toward thee thrust, 
Absolve thy fret, assoil thy dust.'' 



118 ®I|f Itrte ®f ®l|f &.tmB. 



Yet when I come it heeds not nie ; 
The stars amid the branches see 
Bat lonely man, and lonely tree ; — 

And lonely Earth, that holds in thrall 
Her cliildren ; while Eve gathers all 
To fold, within her shadowy wall. 

In starry senate doth arise 
Yon Inmined Spirit of tlie skies, 
Walking witli radiant ministries. 

But, sighing from its kindred wood 
After its green-robed brotherhood. 
The Pine tree feeds my wonted mood. 

For, with its spell around me thrown. 
Dreaming of social pleasures flown, 
I grieve, yet joy to be alone. 

Yet in my lonely Pine there dwells. 
When 'mid its breast the soft wind swells, 
A prophet of sweet oracles. 

Like a faint sea on far-off shore. 
With its low-mutfled, elfin roar. 
It speaks one language evermore ; — 

One language, unconstrained and free. 
The converse of the answering Sea, 
The old rune of Eternity. 

Its freshening music breatheth sooth 
The uncorrupted dream of youth, 
Restoreth Love, unveileth Truth. 



®I|f Itrte ®f ®I|j? ®r0^0. 119 

It speaketh that felicity 

Whicli, being not, we deem may be ; 

It centres Hope in Certainty. 

So, stronger, from this green hill-shrine 
I turn to cares and tasks of mine. 
And grateful, bless my healing Pine. 

TO THE SUN. 

^^ EVEK-JOYOUS Spirit of Delight! 
W/ Thou rapture-giving, high, eternal Sun I 
' Again thou hast thy course unwearied 
run, 
And leav'st to us the shadow we call Night. 
Springs Dowager, thou stoopest from thy 
height. 
With dower of stars and flowers to gild thy 

reign ; 
Thou givest bloom and fragrance to the plain, 
And all the mountain tops for thee are bright! 
Stream-loosener! shedding living crystal where 
More blithe for thee the limpid brooklets flow ; 
Rich in diffusion, thou dost still bestow 
Thy light, as hearts give love, — a treasure rare; 
— Made glorious in the cloud, the azure glow; 
Made beauteous in the roses and the snow. 

ROOT AND BLOSSOM. 

ORD ! rooted well like a brave tree in earth, 
Whose leafy branches throb with winged 
mirth, 

Let me aspire beyond Time's narrow bars, 
And lift my green top radiant to the stars. 



120 U^f MlxhB (if il|j? €mBB. 



H 



^'MY HOPE IS IN THEE.'' 

Every crt-ature has Us element ; the fish, the sea : the 
bird, the air ; the body, the earth ; the soul, its God. The 
con£essii>n ol Saint Augustine is the utterancw of a com- 
mon need. What means it that we are fretted and jaded 
and galled an* disappointed, that we are disheartened and 
exhausted ? What means it, that Pleasure has Pain for its 
shadow, an«i that, " There is that which frets us in the flow 
ers the?:. selves ? I know of but one answer : 'Thou nia- 
dest us ior thyself, O God ! and our hearts are restless un- 
til they repose in Thee."— Journal of Pastor Felix. 

THOU oracular Delphi ! speaking clear, 
With thy mysterious, secret, sibyl-tongue! 
How can ive know ourselves ? When 
we are young, 
Our eyes are dazzled ; old, our eyes are blear. 
What is that inward Self, of which we hear ? 
Inconstant as the wind, or hoary main, 
It seems not single.— nay^ nor even twain, 
But MULTIPLEX, in its uncertain sphere. 
How difficult, self-knowledge, self-control ! 
Flung, like an atom to the whirling wind, 
Or like a chip to the tumultuous sea ; 
In twilight-paths of Hope and Fear, my Soul, 
Unfit herself to know, her way to find, — 
Thou all-revealing Lord, I cry to Thee ! 

THE MESSENGER. 

EAR ye my call, ye sons of men ! '' 
Still doth celestial Wisdom cry : 

' When will ye seek for me, — ah, when ! 
Nor put your better portion by ? 

" Here at the gates of Gain and Power, 
God's Messenger, unheard, I stand ; 

Repeat my counsel o'er and o'er, 
And sound my warning thro' the land. 




®Ip Strte ®f ©Iff (ir0^^. 121 

"• I see the Sons of Pleasure pass ; 

The Mighty set their thrones on high ; 
The Mean stoop low ; — but all, alas ! 

Do pass their better portion by ! 

" Hear me to-day ! Thy God will give 
Of Truth and Grace the full supply ! 

Mine are the words by which ye live, 
And only they who slight them die. 

'- Silver and gold are shining dust, 
And gems of lustre must decay ; 

But who in Wisdom puts his trust 
Hath that which cannot fade away." 

AN AUTUMNAL HYMN. 

i^UTUMN has come, — sweet Sabbath of the 
l—f year ! 

J Its feast of splendor satiates our eyes ; 
Its saddening music, falling on the ear, 
Kids pensive musing in the heart arise : 
Now earlier shadows veil the sunset skies, 
And bright the stars and harvest moon do 

shine ; 
The woodbine's blood-red leaves the morn 

espies 
Hung from the dripping elm ; the yellow- 
ing pine 
And fading goldenrod denote the year's decline. 

The light is mellow over all the hills ; 
Silence in all the vales sits listening ; 
A holy hush the skv's great temple lills. 
As if Earth waited for her spotless King : 



122 Ste llrBi0 (if ®to &.xm^. 



Nor is there want of sacred ministering ; 
The laden trees seem priests all consecrate ; 
The rustling cornfields seem to cliant his 

praise ! 
Surely Man's thankfulness, 'mid his estate 
A gladsome hymn should not forget to raise 
To Him whose bounteous hand doth ever crown 
our days ! 

To Him be praise when harvest-fields are 
bare, 

And all the sheaves are safely gathered in; 

When merry threshers vex the sunny air, 

And rnddy apples crowd the scented bin ! 

Praise Him, when from the dim mill's mis- 
ty din 

In floury bags the golden meal comes home ; 

And praise Him for tlie bread ye yet may 
win. 

When steaming horses plough the fertile 
loam, 
And so prepare the way forharvestsyetto come. 

Praise Him, when round the fireside spark- 
ling clear, 

The household group at evening smiling 
meet ; 

To Him, whose goodness crowns the circ- 
ling year, 

Lift up the choral hymn in accent sweet ; 

The comeliness of Song lift to His seat, 

Who, from His palace of eternal praise, 

His earth-born children hears their joys re- 
peat ; 



®I|j? MuM (if ®l|f ®mBB. 123 



Nor answer to their tliankfulness delays, 
Bat more theirgrateful love witli blessing new 
repays. 

Our ciiastened hearts sliall hunger not for 
gold ; 

Knongh, the splendor of these sunset skies, 

T!ie scarlet pomp from maple bough un- 
rolled, 

The liigh-built woods' resplendent phanta- 
sies : 

Ah ! think, if these no more could win thine 
eyes, 

Nor earth, nor skies, nor the majestic sea ; 

If Love were gone — that jewel Angels prize! 

And all that makes the SouTs felicity, — 
What, then, were gems and gold, O famished 
one, to thee ? 

Not bread, that strengtheneth the heart of 
man, — 

{ For this be praise ! ) — alone our Father 
gives ; 

More provident, the Heavenly Husbandman 

Gives the diviner food by which man lives: 

Not gladdening wine alone the heart re- 
ceives, 

Nor oil, which makes his mortal face to 
shine ; 

Like Autumn rain from dripping cottage 
eaves. 

He gives the thirsty Soul a draught divine : 
Come ! lay your thankful sheaves, first fruits 
upon His shrine I 



124 3I|f llrte ®f ilff <&tmB. 



THE LOBSTERMAN. 

IT is'nt all fun for the Lobsttrman, 
Tho^ a liardy wiglit lie be, 
' And tho' he come witli a clieei y face, 
Like the sun on a twinkling' sea : 

He sets his traps, and he baits his traps.— 
And it is'nt the best f>f sport 
To find, when he measures his crusty-backs, 
That half of 'em fall sliort. 

And the Lobster-folk are a funny folk, 
They do not care if you are dead-broke ! 
For once I heard a fisherman say, — 
" These jokers will with your- fortuhes 
play, 
An' oft they act like sin ! 
You set your traps. 
And you bait your traj^s^ 
Then sometimes they'll g'wtn, 
Sometimes they'll g'w ut, 
Sometimes they'll g'woff ! " 

O it is'nt all fun for the Lobsterman, 

With the brunt of our Island shores, 
When the boats bob quick at their moor- 
ing. 
And the wild Sou'easter roars ; 
When the white spume flies where the dark 

reef lies, 
And the wind it seems to say, — 
" Look out for your traps, you Lobstermen — 
Look out for your traps, to-day ! " 



ihf ItriB ®f Mht fflr000. 125 



And the Lobster-folk are a funny folk, 
About tlie traps they dally and poke : 
And once I heard a fisherman say, — 
'•'J nut when you ought to be met king hoy^ 
Wh}i then they act like sin ! 
You set your traps^ 
You bait your traps^ 
Then sometimes they'll g'win, 
Sometimes they'll g'wout, 
Sometimes they ll g'woff ! " 

He's a-wiukin' his eye, is the Lobsterman: 

'' I've none but friends in port : 
The most of my haul will pass, but not all, 

For a few of 'em are short : 
Yet, all the same, it's a losing game, 

Unless I take my toll ; 

Then down comes the Warden, as suddent as 
Death, 
And confiscates the whole ! " 
Oh, the Lobsters are such a funny folk ! 
They give you an egg and take back the 

yolk ; 
For once I heard a fisherman say, — 
" These hard times they are gettin'' gay^ 
When the Lobsters act like sin ! 
You set jour traps. 
You bait your tra2')S, 
Then sometimes they'll g'win, 
Sometimes they'll g'wout, 
Sometimes they'll g'woff ! " 



126 ibf Itrte #f ©to ^xbbb. 



O, a lioliday trip has tlie Ijobsterman, 

When the snow sifts in the sea, 
And his boat drifts out where tlie breakers 
shf'ut 
That leap and whiten a-lee ; 
Orthi^ frayed line parts, as the trap he pulls 

With mittened hand half f roze,-- 
Yes, the line it parts, as lie backward falls, 

And into the deep he goes ! 
And the Lobsters are sucli a canny folk ! 
Do they knaw at hearts that were hearts of 

of oak ? 
Yes, once I heard a fisherman say, — 
'-'' There'' s now and again a hungry day 
When the Lobsters feed like sin ! 

Then you'll set your traps., 
And you'll halt yourtraps^ 
And sometimes they'll g'win, 
Sometimes they'll g'wout, 
Sometimes the ^'ll g'woff ! " 

TO JOHN IMRIE, 

ON READING SOME OF HIS SONGS. 

/T>\J1T> brither o' the Scottish heart an' 
y^X tongue, 

Sae fraught wi' Burns' an' Ramsay's 
tuneful lore, 
I mark the home-felt sangs that ye hae sung, 
Sweetening with music your Canadian shore. 

A loving song to me is always sweet. 

Of home and wife and little children dear : 



®l|f Itrte fflf ®I|]? fflra^^. 127 

When Scotia's lays soft native lips repeat, 
How ricli the Doric accent to ray ear ! 

Dear to me long has been McLachlan's lyre ; 

McKarlane's strain of phantasy is dear ; 
Oft Wanlock's pensive muse awakes my fire, 

Or brings the sudden sympathetic tear. 

And Murdocli, looking from his Island shore 
On Fundys wave, has touched me with his 
strain ; 

And Harper, ripe with his scholastic lore. 
Steeps in his heart the product of his brain. 

Kind-hearted, gracious Latto ! on the street 
Of thronged Manhattan, men may meet no 
more : 

Thro' his fond eyes tlie coast of Fife I greet. 
Hear thro' his ears the Norland Ocean roar. 

McCall, the brusque, the generous, wakes not 
now 

His (iaeiic harp, as in the elder day ; 
And Weir has hung upon the willow bough 

That sweet pipe known to many a roundelay. 

I ca' them frien's, an' frien's I deem they are ! 

And now beneath my roof shall henceforth be 
Thy honest, simple muse.— Tho' frae afar, 

Imrie, I rax a brither's haun to thee ! 

A SCENE IN THE BETHEL. 

>p>ROWDED, Father Taylor's Bethel : 
\WJ Mounted on his quarter deck, 
Witli his favorite tars about him, 
He portrays a sinking wreck. 



128 ®l|]? TMthB ®f U^t €tmB. 



While he speaks they see the yawning 
Gulfs of the tempestuous sea. — 

See the blackening heavens above them, 
See the surges smite and flee ;- — 

See the sailors hurrying, toiling ; 

Hear the thunders booming loud, — 
Hear the shrieking of the whirlw^ind 

As it tears thro' sail and shroud ; — 

Hear the rattling, wild deck-trumpet, 
Captain's orders shouting shrill ; 

( 'Tis enough with mortal terror 
Even the stoutest heart to fill ! ) 

And while now the spell is strongest, 
While doom stares them in tlie face, 

And a hush of awe falls deeper, 
He is silent for a space : — 

Then, far-leaning o'er the seamen 
Gluster'd round him, with a frown, — 

" Boys ! " he shouts, ''now man the life- 
boat ! 
"See ! the ship is going down ! " 

Quick upleaps a tipsy sailor. 

Knowing not ivhere he is at, — 
Peers in wild alarm about him, — 
Mutters " Where in '.s iny ho.tf'' 

Down the aisle he starts and staggers, 
Bent on giving doom the slip ; 



®I|f ltrJ0 (if ®I|j? fflri0iBB. 129 

Vainly Taylor calls, to haltliim, — 
'•'■ Boys! you need not leave the sliip ! " 

Better than a foundering vessel, 
One upon a low lee shore : 

"7';/i /lot monejjln^ here,"' he grumbled, 
As he bolted thro" the door. 

THE PRISONER OF THE ILES DU SALUT. 

DREYFUS, 

/^LAS ! my Mother I ere my sands are run, — 
^ O France ! deal justly with me, ere I die! 
Out of my love, my pain, to thee 1 cry ! 
Why hast thou dealt so hardly with thy son ? 
To thee — to thee, what evil have I done, 
That, torn from home, to hope, to honor, lost. 
Captive I languish on this dreadful coast. 
Beneath my Country's frown, her malison ? 

HIS ENEMIiS, 

Silence ! thou w retch fc.rlorn ! It is too late, 
If one would lift a pleading voice for thee : 
Do dead or damned return, who vanish thro' 
The adamantine bolted door of Fate ? 
Have we not sealed and published the decree ? 
— Beside, O wretch ! wast thou not horn o 
JE W f 



ft 



THE YOUNl:. MAN ABSALOM. 

T the Gate stands the old King watching. 

While the sun is going down. 
For the messenger who is hastening 

To Gilead's liigh walled town : 
At the long delay so anxious. 



130 W^t Itrte ®f ll|j? &tmB. 



His spirit begins to chafe, 
For he cries, as the scout approaches, — 

" /.s the young man Ab-^alom safe f" 

No matter how went the battle, 

No matter for crown or throne ; 
But what of the beautiful creature, — 

The boy that I love — my own ? 
Say, tossed on the tide of battle — 

The fairest and dearest waif — 
Does he breathe the breath of the living ? 

" Is the young man A bsalom safe f " 

O word of woe and sorrow ! 

It is cruel that we must speak: 
The cry strikes down through the ages, 

And the tear is fresh on the cheek ; 
For a thousand lips are saying, — 

" Ah ! where is Charlie ? — is Raphe ? 
And what of the child of my bosom ? — 
' Is the young man Absalom safe f "" 

WAR. 

WRITTEN WHEN THERE WAS RUMOR OF WAR 
BETWEEN ENGLAND AND AMERICA. 

©ACK ! thou dark Angel, with thy garment 
stained in blood, 
With flame-shod feet, wild eyes, and ter- 
rible array ! 
Thou hast no place in any land, to-day. 
Where Christ's high Lawof Love is understood. 
Back! nor let loose on us again thy crimson 

flood, 
These lands to deluge, since nor claim nor cause 

thou hast : 
See ! where thy breath has stained and blight- 
ed all the past. 



M^t Itrta (®f ®]1|]? fflr00B. 131 



Who art the slianie, the horror of the Good ! 

Kide forth no more I — or if thy fierce-career- 
ing steed 

Must hasten wildly still upon its mad career, 

For our humanity, with woe increased. 

For wives and little children foully doomed to 
bleed, — 

Ride on ! ride on ! — thou hast no mission here! 

Eighty if thou can.sf, the agonizing EA ST ! 

MELANCHTHON'S WATCH VVOKD. 

'pM^ELANCHTHON, in his darker day, 
*' '* When sharp the bolts of Fate were 
hurled, 
To cheer his heart would often say, — 

'" Let Philip cease to rule the 'Vorlciy 

So to my Soul would ] repeat 

His watchword neath life's darkening sky, 
When Earth seems trembling 'nenth my feet, 

And Hope and Faith and Courage die. 

Live, work, and wait ; the subject Hours 

To him who wills shall tribute bring ; 

The Fates give way ; the Heavenly Powers 

'Shall take him up and make him king. 



Trust thou in God ; the world He planned 
In wisdom ; — own the mighty deed ! 

Why fearest thou ? He can command. 
To aid thee in thine hour of need, 

His Angels from their shining walls ; 

Hifi will the demons must obey ; 
His power would gird the Soul that falls, 

His love would guide us in the way. 



132 ®I|[f Sirte (if ®I|i? ®r000o 



Let us be srlad that He must reign, 

yeoure in His immortal state : 
Through Him our bliss survives our pain; 

His qemiienes^s doih make tis </ rent . 

His word, how true ! His work how fair ! 

And, even while we look thror.gh tears. 
His mercy, irisd on the air — 

Thataaoient miracle — appears! 
The iugrate's faltering wonl disdain, 

Nor play the palterer's sullen part ; 
Why should a living man complain, 

Or nurse a discontented heart ? 
My work to do, while shines the sun, 

My song to sing at eventide, 
My house of rest, when earth is done, — 

With these let me be satisfied. 
If e'er my heart would faint or pine. 

Let me look to the hills for aid, 
Where Stars of endless mercy shine, 

And Heaven's blue banner is displayed. 

And when my eyes with tears would fill, 
To see my hopes in ruin whirled, 

Be mine Melanchthon's watchword still, — 
•"•Let Philip cease to rule the tvorld" 

AT HAMPDEN. 
Independence Day, 1893. 

i^LOOF the village stands, bosom'd in trees; 

LJ^Penobscot rolls his sun-bright wave below: 

J There ply the steamers ; there the vessels 



®I|]? MuhB (if ®I|i? €TmB. 133 



With white sails swelling to tlie freshening 

breeze. 
How sweet these airs tliat blow from blossomy 

leas I 
How sweet the sound of boatman s dipping oar 
From Orringtons secluded, sylvan shore, 
With all the river's lights and melodies ! 
Hark I 'tis the voice of mirth, where youthful 

bands 
With many a note vocifernus move along ! 
High floats the star-strewn banner, tliat com- 
mands 
The patriot's warmest love, his loftiest song I 
The bells are glad, and every heart is gay. 
To usher in the Nation's Natal Day ! 



^ 



THE COCK AND THE PEARL. 

IMITATED FKOM AESOP. 

SELF IMPORTANT bantam cock— 
The master of the feathery flock — 
Was strutting his own barn-yard round ; 
When, lying white upon the ground, 
Shining among the yellow straw. 
What proved to be a pearl, he saw ; — 
A precious jewel of great cost. 
That someone wandering there had lost. 

He pecked at it : "■ What have we here?' 

Contemptuously cried Chanticleer : 

" A treasure truly you may be 

To such as prize you ; — but for me, 

A single barley-corn I more 

Esteem, than all your tasteless store ! 



134 il|]? MlthB ®f ®l|f (Ir000. 

Yon angleworm, that twists and curls, 
Is surel> worth a peck of pearls ■" 
With this, aloft his head he tlirew, 
And lustily the cockscomb crew. 

Such is the sordid estimate 
Of Glenius, in his high estate ; 
So Art and Song to nought are turned, 
And so is beauteous Wisdom spurned. 
The pearls, too seldom found, to-day 
As vulgarly are cast away : 
The Soul's most precious things are boast 
Of him can feel and prize them most. 

CHICKADEE. 

©N A SPRAY of yon pine tree. 
Cheery as a bird can be, 
In this keenest winter weather, 
W ith thy mat*^, blithe Chickadee, 
Thou canst sit and sing together, — 
C hick-a-dee-dee-dee . 

Wildest storm, on bitterest day, 
Cannot drive our bird away, — 

Hardy little forest ranger ! 
Here thou sing'st thy favorite lay, 

Dreaming not of harm or danger, — 

Ch iek-a-dee-dee-dee. 

Searching for thy food the trees ; 
Swung, like flyer on trapeze. 

Then erect, for blithest singing, — 
That scant song, which still can please. 

Thro' the woods' cold arcades ringing, — 
C hick-a-dee-dee-dee. 



W^f MltiB C©f ®I|f <^mm. 135 



If the trees shall long be bare, 
And the snow lie everywhere, 

And thy food be scant, come winging 
To my window ; crumbs lie tliere ; 

Thou'lt repay me with thy singing, — 
Chick-a-dee-dee-de. 

Come sometimes to visit me ; 
I will love thee. Chickadee ! 

Shelter thee from want and cold ; 
Make thee of my table free : — 

Nay, 'tis thine, this forest old, — 

Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. 

THE EAGLE. 

ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF ALFRED DE 
VIGNY. 

@N the snowy mountain sr.mmit — yon ham- 
let's silvery crown. 
The Spaniard has wounded an eagle, came 
swooping suddenly down,— 
The great Asturian Eagle, that has threatened 

his bounding flock. 
As, like the foam of ocean, they break over moss 
and rock. 

With wings that are fiercely beating, and rain- 
ing drops of blood, 

The bird mounts heavenward, braving grim 
Death, in his hardihood ; 

Swift as the flashing leven darts from its sheath 
of cloud. 



136 ®f|[f MltM ®f ilff &mm. 

While shriller than cry of bugle his sliriek re- 
sounds aloud. 

Sunward he steadily mounteth ; his filmy eyes 
do seek 

Its fires, as he would breathe them with wide- 
ly-opened beak, 

As it were the source omnific whence his tow- 
ering spirit came, 

Or he his life would recapture from its empire 
of glowing flame. 

As if no bolt had stricken, no shaft could reach 

him, there, 
With great wing-strokes he hoveis and swims 

in the golden air ; 
In his last rich bath of glory he seems to float 

and rest ; 

But the hot ball there is burning like a living 

coal in his breast. 

Too sure was the aim of the peasant to give a 
respite long ; 

Strong is the heart of the Eagle, but the grasp 
of Death is strong : 

His wing its shaft drops downward where un- 
der the furze-wood glooms ; 

As the regal rose in its fading his mantle is slied 
ding its plumes. 

Dizzying, his weight bears him downward, of 
his proud lieight dispossessed, 



®l|f Itrte ®f ilff fflra^B. 137 



Till he sinks in the snow of the mountain with 

wildly-heaving breast ; 
The mountain's chill creeps closer to the heart 

whose valor is done, 
And shut is the eye undazzled wlien it gazed in 

the eye of the sun. 

O Eagle-Soul, undaunted ! O Spiritof Love and 

Song I 
Above the Olympian Mountain thou soarest 

bright and strong ! 
Like the Monarch-bird thou hoverest aloft in 

the golden air : 
Ah ! who can dispossess thee ? What ill can 

reach there ? 

But, like the storm-born Eagle to his Asturian 

glen, 
To Earth for treasure thou stoopest ; then fain 

would'st soar again : 
In vain, for thy heart is stricken ! The Spirit 

of Weeping cries : 
''Come ye to the lamentation : behold where 

the fallen lies!" 

CAMP-FIRE MEMORIES. 

WRITTEN FOR A POST MEETING OF THE G. A. R 
AT HAMPDEN, OCT., 1897. 

©URS are the memories of those glorious 
days 
When bugle-notes awoke the slumbering 
morn, 
When drums made sign for battles to be born. 
And blood-stained fields oft met the Soldiers' 
gaze. 



138 Sbf Strte (if 3bf &.mm. 



Again the batteries of Port Hudson blaze, 
And roaring dalilgrens thunder a reply, 
As dauntless Farragut goes sailing by, 
With fleets almost the hostile slioret- that graze. 
Ours are the memories tliat can never die. 
While yet a comrade lives who wore the blue; 
Who at Ohalmette his ready rifle knew, 
Or saw at Irish Bend the foemen fly. 
Such scenes, such deeds, in story live again, 
When at their Camp-fires meet the Boys of 
Maine ! 

TO RALPH SHAW* 

IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION THE PRESENT 
WRITER WOULD HA^VE BEEN GLAD TO 
ACCEPT, BUT FELT OBLIGED TO RE- 
CLINE. 

EAR RALPH :— 

'Twas in my heart to say 
To your fine bidding instant — Yea ! 
Since Fancy rises, prompt and free, 
To your wild nook of Ossipee. 
The scenes, how fair ! how blest the days! 
How sweet the hospitality ! 
Sure, these delights, if shared with thee, 
I might more justly, warmly praise. 
Then careless might we lie in dream. 
To list the song" of Melvin Stream, 
Possest of days — a sunny seven — 
Right on the border-land of Heaven ! 
Begone, dull Care ! ye bonds, away ! 

* Of I^owell, Mass.. author of, " CAmp Ossipee, and 
Other Poems." 



®I|]? Itrft^ ®f ®I|i? ffir0B^. 139 

— Alas ! the words are vain to say ! 
Or quickly I my grip would pack, 
And hie me o'er the iron track, 
Or by the bright JSea's breegiy way, 
To Portland, and to Melvin Kay ; 
Climb upward to Ceagshiel, and pree 
The trout, with Mary's cakes and tea. 

But now, while you are thither bent ; 

While Rogers* near you spreads his tent ; 

While Weelahka and Melvin Stream t 

Inspire in you the poefs dream. 

And the old pleasures are renewed 

Of Nature and of Solitude ; — 

While Ben, % with many a merry peal, 

i Makes glad the rude walls of Cragshiel; 
While sunset flames upon the Lake, 
And thrushes vesper music make ; 
While Mary spreads the evening meal ; 

While noon makes still the thickets round; 
While morning, gladdening every height, 
Wakes all the wood with joyful sound ; 
While upon Winnepesaukee's breast 
The snowv, shadowy clouds do rest ; 
Or daybreak bids its sheen inherit 

Once more the SmiJe of the Oreat Spirit^ 
While up, when dreaming night is done, 
With growing splendor, lifts the sun ; — 

Ay, while your nights have dreams of bliss, 
Or on day's golden cycles run ; 
Think how your "brither-bard " must 
miss 

* Oliver \V. Rog-ers, of Billerica, Mass. 
t Names of water-courses in the Paik. 
X The Poet's little son. 



140 M^t MuhB ®f I?]? fflr000. 



The tramps, the noonings, and tlie fun, 
Condemned to sulks and to complaining. 
While in his own dull town remaining ; 
Since absent cash and present care 
Forbid his going anywhere 
Beyond his circle, — that's the bound 
Of his prescribed parochial round. 

Yet thanks, for your fraternal call 
To harbor at the Mountain-Hall, 
And hold with you, in poet-fee, 
Your famous Park of Ossipee. 
You love, dear Ralph, the deep of woods, 
The festooned manes of mountain floods, 
The cliff and soar where the eagle perches. 
The shy stream crooning 'neath the birches. 
The hills whose tops salute the sky, 
The nestled lakes, — and so do J ! 
I love each wild, each rural scene, 
The orchard, and the village green. 
The blossomy meadow path ; yet more 
I love the low, resounding shore, 
And the wide reaches of the Sea, 
That bring such haunting dreams to me. 
Of grandeur and immensity. 
Fain to the Hall would I repair. 
To breathe awhile your mountain air; 
Your crags and glens and streams to see, 
And meet your goodly company, 
I hear that Whittier delights 
To climb with you those craggy heights, 



®fj[]? Itrte ®f W^^ &.mBB. 141 

While Lucy Larcom oft will choose 
This favorite region of the muse, — 
This beauteous scene of wild romance, 
With your congenial countenance 
And converse sweet. 

But tho' not now 
These pleasures Fortune may allow, 
Your bounty were a lure to draw, 
But for Necessity's stern law. 
That bids me swing as does my door, 
That shuts and opens as before : 
But Thought expands o'er all Creation; — 
And such, dear Ralph, is my Vacation ! 
Sometime may come the glad event, 
When what you planned, and what I meant, 
May without hind'rance be effected. 
And not a single claim neglected. 
So bear me not as one, in mind. 
Who slights an invitation kind ; 
Nor class me, bidden to a feast, 
With old-time truants in the East; 
Who, when the final summons came, 
And all was ready, — to their shame. 
And hospitality's abuse, — 
Began at once to make excuse : 
One had, indeed, a friendly mind, 
Yet was to oxen much inclined ; 
A wife, became another's prize ; 
Another sought his merchandize ; 
But each agreed in this — to sum 



142 ®l|f MuM ®f W^t fflr00c 

The matter up he could not come. 

So, serve me not as thei/ were served, 
Who from the line of friendship swerved ; 
Count not my plea a pretext vain, 
Which you would scorn to hear again ; 
Nor, stern resolving, cast me o'er, 
And bid the unworthy guest no more. 

Now let me, at some favored time, 

Know how your mountains look in rliyme ; 

And how, after tliree days of rain, 

( Meanwhile you ne'er a trout have ta'en, ) 

The little brooks get on a spree 

Down the wild sides of Ossipee. 

Tell me how Walton's gentle lore 

Is prized on Melvin's sunset-shore ; 

Tell me if Rogers, true and trced^ 

( By one of brown or grizzly breed ? ) 
Stands by you, in your hour of need, — 
Like that brave fellow in the fable. 
Who found a tree-top comfortable 
When Bruin ventured on the scene ; 
( I vuni, I think his conduct 7iiean ! ) 
The brother-traveller at his side 
For his own safety must provide, 
And show his wit — more ways than one ; 
— Tell how the venison was done 
That yesterday you had for dinner,^— 

And if you fatter grow, or thinner ; 

What books you read, what deeds you do, 
What dreams, what fancies, you pursue ; 



TO|]^ l!rte ®f ilff fflrju^a. 143 



VVliat mazy walks you wander through ; 

VVliat various phases and delights 

Of sunny days and starry nights 

Are yours, and what unusual sights ; — 

What glens you thread, what cliffs you 

climb, 
Wliat faerie webs you weave in rhyme; — 
l*ray, make the schedule as complete 
As time and wit may fashion it : 
Tlien, when he gets tliat spicy letter, 
Felix will be your grateful debtor. 

"WHO'S WHO?" 

PASSED thro' a wood I chanced to 
see 
An owl roosted upon a tree ; 
To whom I said, in a tone quite clear, 
' ' Which is the greatest book of the year?' 
And the Owl answered me: " Certainly, — 
you,— 
Who's Who— Who's Who /" 

''You are right," Icried, "and with you I agree; 
It's the biggest book in Ameri-kee: 

For if there be 

Someone like me, — 
Some itchy scribbler and haunted elf. 
Who doesn't know who he is, himself, — 
If he'll trouble to look, — I do declare, — 
In its priceless pages, he'll find out there." 
Then at once the Owl took up the strain, 
And the dusky forest re-echoed again, 
And the welkin rang, till all was blue. 

With, " Who's Who ?— Who's Who?" 




144 Slfj? MlxM ®f ®I|f <&mBB. 



A PROPER SPRING-SONG. 

■^IS time to sing a Sf)ng of Spring, 
I 'Tis time to wake the vernal lyre ; 
But don't forget, good wife, as yet, 

To stop the draught and feed tl\e fire! 
The Mayflower and the Violet-time 

Is come, at last — my song must say : 
But every verse is tagged with rime, 
While fields are russet, sl^ies are gray. 

Hail ! Maid ethereal ! Nymph divine ! 

I prythee, give me cap and mitts ! 
And, if he go through slush or snow. 

Each wight his overcoat befits. 
'Tis April, now,— or maybe, May, 

( It does'nt really matter which ;) 
But I must sing a song of Spring, — 

So, let me get the proper pitch. 

Hark ! to the singing of the birds ! 

— ''Ye little birds, how can ye sing," 
While I ray cap with muffler wrap, 

And to my overcoat yet cling ? 
Glad tears are in my eyes — they freeze^ 

Yet are they glad and happy tears: 
They have been shed by poets dead 

For six or seven hundred years. 

I cough,— the rheum is in my eyes ; 

Out of my head much ichor flows ; 
My feet I'm shovin' into the oven, 

I next the stovepipe lean my nose : 



®ljf ItriB #f ilf]? fflraBB. 145 

My voice is harsh and husky still, 
Though horehound slops I swig and 
sling ; 

—But 'tis my duty, and I will 
Warble, — ' How lovely is the Spring !' 

I have not seen a speck of green, 

As yet a frog has not been heard ; 
Nor yet doth squirm the early worm 

In presence of the early bird ; 
Yet I'll not reck the giraffe neck 

Of Winter, and its icy shoon. 
That stretch away far into May, 

Touching the very tip of June. 

Yet will I sing, and wake the string. 

To hail the glories yet unseen. 
And greet the flower, in forest bower, 

Before that beauty there has been. 
Hail ! frosty season, soft with dew ! 

( Flora, forgive me^ if I lie ! ) 
Chaucer and Spenser taught me to ; 

And I will do it, though I die ! 

THE STONE WALL. 

LOVE to linger by thy shambling side. 
Thou shag'd and crumbling trail of mossy 
stone. 

With the faint August afternoon alone ; 
Or con thy lichens at sweet eventide, 
As they were runes of patriarchal pride, 
When brawn of sinewy-handed pioneers 



146 ilfi? MlxhB ®f ®l|]? €xmB. 



Up-piled these rampart-rocks in elder years, 
And tilled tliese fields and pastures spreading 

wide. 
InSpring here blooms the thorn; theapple drops 
Yellowing in Autumn ; gossip-swallows glide ; 
The leaves are whispering when the breezes 

pass; 
The barberry reddens ; yonder the lamb crops 
The scanty herbage. Peace and rest abide 
Here, with the stones and shrubs, and the tall 
grass. 

EUGENE FIELD. 

/^^ONE, is the maker of innocent mirth ! 
y®^ Vanished, the smile that illumined the 

earth ! 
Soul, that was brightest — the g oldenest heart — 
These must forever depart ! 

Weep for him, Comrades, who knew the de- 
lights 
Of song and of story, on festival nights ; 
Witty and wise, warm and brotherly, too, — 
Never his equal ye knew ! 

Lull him, ye brook, as ye murmur along, — 
Ye, his delight, and the theme of his song ; 
Up in the steeple, where lately ye flew. 

Wail him, ye "■Croodlin Doo P'' 

All ye small dwellers in " Wink-a-vKty Land^''^ 
— " Pitfy-pat^'' " Tippytoe^ " — come, hand in 
hand ; 



ffilff llrte ®f ll|f fflra^Bo 147 

Come, "■ Teeny 'Weeny,'"' with glad, dancing 
e>es. 
Brighten the sod wliere he lies ! 

Love him, ye children, for well he loved you ; 
Mourn him, ye maidens — the tender and true ; 
Fathers and mothers ; — to age and degree 
Reverent and gentle was he ! 

Sprinkle your light, happy stars, where he 

grew ! 
He was rv friend and a lover of you ; 
Kiss his sweet grave, O ye lips of the dew ! — 
He sang of Little Boy Bluer 

WINGS 

A LEGEND OF THE BIRDS. 

T T(5\HEN first the birds were made they had 
\KJ "^ wings, 

But with the reptiles grovelled on the 
ground ; 
Till, out of effort — so the poet sings — 

By lifting burdens, wings at last were found. 
Not sweetest voices could their hearts content, 
Nor plumage where its hues the rainbow 
flings : 
They wrought on Earth, and so to Heaven they 
went,-- 
They lifted burdens, then God gave them 
wings. 
Thus did the Lark, ere he could rise, aspire ; 

The Nightingale had longings, ere her wings; 
They fly the gloom to seek the morning's fire, 



148 ®I|f MlthB (§f ®I|i? §^tmB. 

And she who toiled in tears in rapture sings: 
Ah, grovelling Soul ! if thou would'st soar, then 

see, 
The willing warblers point the way for thee ! 

THE MUSES IN VILLE MARIE. 

TO WILFKID CHATEAUCLAIR.* 

EAR CHATEAUCLAIR, it seems to me, 
'The Muses live in Ville Marie ; 
For there a rarely-gifted Three — 

To name nae mair — 
Know Love's supreme felicity. 

And breathe its air. 

Lives he not there, wha sang sae sweet 
The woes of gentle Marguerite f't 
And ^ferlin's kindly Laureate J 

Is surely there ; 
With him, they all delight to greet 

As Chateauclair. 

There Murray sings ; and there sings he, 
Whose herald bloom is Fleurs-de-Lys ;§ 
There quaint M'Lennon \\ daintily 
Turns the auld lay ; 

* Hon. William D. Lig-hthall, Montreal. 

t Geoige Martin, author of " Marguerite." 

J John Reade, F. R. S,, author of "The Prophecy of Mer- 
lin, and Other Poems." 

§ Prof. John Murray, ot McGill College, and Arthur 
Weir, author of " Fleurs-de-Lys," and other works. 

II William M'Lennan, folk-writer, romanticist, translator 
of old French Chansons, — " Songs of Old Canada." 



llff Wat^B (®f ©Iff ®r00^. 149 



Bob Wanlock,^ and John Ai'bory, ** 
Still with you stay. 

When you a feast do make, my wish 
Shall be for neither flesh nor fish ; 

Bring blackbird pie, wlience wings go 

whish ! 

While each throat sings: 
Ah ! set such old-time, dainty dish 

Before your kings ! 

Home's cheeriest iz\gAMllume your ITall^ 
Now these November evenings fall ; 
Dance the glad fire-gleam on tlie wall. 

When down ye sit ; 
While rouu' the friendly Muses call, 

To chat a bit. 

Long live ye, 'neath Laurentian skies. 
Securely good, serenely wise ! 
Lead to new lights and victories 

Your Ville Marie : 
Late, late, may monumentals rise 

To thine, or thee ! 

My dream is oft of Ville Marie, — 
The very name is dear to me ; 
For there a rarely-gifted three — 

To name nae mair — 
Know Love's supreme felicity, 

And breathe its air. 

** Robert Reid and John M'Farlane, two Scottish-Cana- 
dian poets, residents ot Montreal. 



150 U^t MlxM ®f Mi^t <&xmB. 

THE MAKING OF MAY. 

TT(5\HAT is it makes the May ?— The com- 
\KJ ing birds, 

Brimful of mirth and gladness, as of 

yore, 
With notes far sweeter than a poet's words ; 
Earth's matin bards, with immemorial lore ; 
The mounting sun which will the green restore, 
And wake the dandelion ; the white tliorn ; 
The delicate arbutus, seen once more ; 
The lengthening day, the swift-returning morn; 
The l^leating of young lambs; thelowing heids, 
Going to pasture ; the old chime o' th' shore, 
When, wave on wave, the freshening seas inroll; 
Bluest of skies ; soft clouds, as white as curds? 
— Nay ! — The blithe heart, we thought would 

leap no more ; 
The gladness and the brightness of the soul ! 

EVELEEN. 

©DEAR is the dawn, 
With its single white star ; 
And green is the lawn 

Where the dreamy dews are ; 
And there her voice is heard, 

And her comely face is seen, — 
To break his rest, 
who loves her best, — 
My fair Eveleen ! 

Her cottage is near. 

With its old mossy trees, 



§I|f MuhB ®f ©Iff <^tmB. 151 



With its brook running clear, 
And its drowsy-head bees ; 
And there she lives, my Love, 

She who loves me well, I ween ; 
For her I pine. 
To call her mine,— 
My own Eveleen ! 

When I am on the sea. 

My Love is my song ; 
The deep's immensity 
Shall not sever us long ; 
For, in spite of wind and wave. 
To my kingdom and my queen. 
Without a stain, 
111 come again. 
My own Eveleen ! 

Then waft, thou white sail, 

My hope from afar ! 
Ye soft winds, prevail ! 

Shine, thou fortunate Star ! 
While I march o'er the blue wave, 
Gold and pearls for thee to glean 
The lure to me 
Thy smile shall be. 
My fair Eveleen ! 

My darling, adieu ! 

I shall dread not the deep, 
If tempests may brew. 

Or the waves sink to sleep ; 



152 ®l|j? Itrte ®f ©If]? (&mm. 

For they cannot keep me back 

From thy cot and garden green, — 
Thy sheltering bower, — 
My peerless flower, 
My fond Eveleen ! 

ZOLA 

IN HIS DEFENCE OF DREYFUS. 

He comes with succor speedy 

To him who suffers wrong, 
To help the poor and needy, 

And bid the weak 1 e strong 

TT(5\HATE'ER thy faults— and faults we 
\KJ deemed were thine — 

Thou scribe of human misery and des- 
pair ! 
To blame thee now no generous heart will care, 
Nor stoop of all thy books to blot a line. 
With courage and with constancy divine 
I see thee standing single to defend 
The name of thy dishonored, ruined friend. 
While Power and Passion'gainsthis cause com- 
bine. 
O strange reverse ! when a head half abhorred 
Takes sacred lustre ! Bitter was thy word; 
But, oh, the sweetness of thy deed unpriced ! 
While round thy form the wild mob pressed and 

roared, 
And unjust judges near thee trembling stood, 
Awe-struck^ we saw the calm face of the 
Christ ! 



®l|]^ Sirte (if ilfi? fflCT^B. 153 



TERRILL 

A COLLEGIAN WHO WAS KILLED BY THE AC- 
CIDENTAL DISCHAKGE OF HIS GUN, 
WHILE HUNTING IN THE 
MAINE WOODS. 

•TT^HE message came ere even-fall ; 
^5) And now the busy whisper goes 

From room to room. . . Each bustling hall 
An unaccustomed silence knows. 

A truce to mirth and sportive glee ; — 
The campus vacant must remain ; 

For underneath the forest tree 
Our comrade, Terrill, lietli slain. 

He, who of old found Man, is still. 
Where'er we move, a presence nigh : 

So busiest lives tlieir measure fill, 
And youtJi may find a time to die. 

The fatal cast hath fall'n on him ! — 
Our lustiest heart, and loftiest brain : 

What promise with his eyes grew dim, 
What hopes with him lie early slain ! 

Yet thro' the forest leaps the deer. 

Yet drums the partridge from the tree ; 

But stiird, that voice of boundless cheer. 
That gave the note of purest glee. 

Hark ! . . 'Tis his blood doth guiltless flow ! 

While Autumn's many-colored woods 
Echo that sullen sound of woe 

Through all their sun-bright solitudes. 



154 ©Iff MithB (Sf ©Iff <&xmB. 

There's blood upon the withered leaves, — 
Large drops the wayside grasses stain ; 

His dying moan tlie wind receives, 
To breathe it in our ears again. 

And who could hear thy feeble call, 
When lying 'neath yon forest tree ? 

He — He., who marks the sparrow's fall, 
He only then regarded thee ! 

O, busy World ! O, quiet Grave ! 

O, Life J O, Deatli ! how near ye lie ! 
We feast with Joy, at morning brave ; 

We sup with Grief, -neath evening's sky. 

And which is best ? . . This world, so fair. 
Our friends so dear ! . . to leave them all, 

While prnmised life seems rich and rare, 
Nor yet a shade begins to fall ! . . 

God knoweth ! Let no mortal boast : 
But this is truth we hold and prize, — 

That Love and Faith cannot be lost. 
Low in the grave, where TerrilUies. 

THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 

HEARD ON NOBLEBORO CAMP-GROUND. 

ilNE is the solitary road ; 
Glooms of evening deepen all around me : 
Distant gleam the lights of the encamp- 
ment : 

The rain-portending zephyrs caress me, 

Blown out of the shadowy East : 



®!|f Strte (if Slfir ffir0^0. 155 

A long and dimming track ; a path in the even- 
tide fading : 

A Poet's Book- the singer of wonderful child- 
songs, 

Jimiling out upon me from the Vale of Har : 

A dream-world all around me ; — 

The assembled ghostly Companions, 

And Guests of Memory. . , . 
. . . — The voice of the Whip-2:)Oor-ivill ! 

A path, that turns aside into the pine woods, — 

A sanctuary of the night-breathing wind : 

It comes with an infinite sweep, a satisfied sigh, 

— The entry of a Soul into Eternity's repose. 

Then comes a susurrus — a longer surge — 

A sound as of far-off seas — 

A billowy echo — voices of haunted shores. . . 

Hark ! . . . What rises out of the wildwood ? 

It is the wail of my heart, — 

A mingled utterance of longing and regret, . . 

• . . — The song of the WhijD-poor-will ! 
Up thro' the brown floor of the pine woods 
Have arisen the Spirits of the Place, — 
The pale-green, delicate ferns. 
The Sisterhood of this forest nunnery: 
They tremble and wave. 
Like living, sentient creatures, 
And nod, conversing with one another. 
I can almost hear their elfin voices ; 
Their faces are pale in this dim, deep arbor 
Where they are clustering : 



156 ilif MuM (Si ®te €xm^ 



They stand, like the choristers of a temple 

When the anthem is abort to begin ; 

They fill me with awesome delight. 

— Then out of the thicket deep comes a voice 

of lamentation, 
A weeping note, repeated, and repeated, . . . 
. . . — The song of the Whip-poor-will ! 

And I hear it again, and again, 
As slowly I wander back to the encampment. . 
Then again, at midnight, 
I start out of my sleep, as if some one near me 

had spoken, — 
Forsaking my dream :~- 

Then through the open window comes the self- 
same sound, — 
The plaintive call threshing, luheep-tu-wheep! 
. . . — The voice of the Whip-poor-will ! 

What meanest thou, O Bird ? 

— O Bird, or haunting Spirit ! 

Pursuing my wandering feet. 

Breaking my lonely slumber, 

Here in the wilderness ? 

Art thou a Voice prophetic ? 

Grievest thou for the woe that must rend my 

bosom ; 
For the beloved and the beautiful that are reft 

away ? 
Ah ! no, sweet Bird ! 

It is for the solace of thy mate thou singest : 
I will not accuse thee, and call thee prophet of 

ill. 



Ilff MuhB i§f ®I|f <^tmB. 157 

still will I listen at evening to the song that 

hath soothed me, 
That hath filled me with tranquil delight ; — 
The Bird of the Encampment,— the Voice of 

the Pine wood, — 
The song of the Whip-poor-will ! 

THE MURMUR OF THE PINES 

FROM THE RUSSIAN OF BASHKIN. 

LIST to the low murmur of the Pines, 
That by my window their dark watches 
keep ; 

In a sad monotone they whisper deep 
And awful meanings that my heart divines : 
Earth's saddest Land is ours ; for nowhere 
shines 
The sun on one so like a prison cell 
As that grey realm of mist in which we 

dwell, 
Whence Happiness has fled, where Woe re- 
clines. 
Our hearts are orphaned, like the hearts of men 
Who have no Father, and no Savior, more; 
We wait, but not in patience — in despair : 
The sky is but a cold and darksome den, 

Where life alone endures in sufEeringsore: 
— So breathed the Pines their grief in emp- 
ty air. 



158 Wlft l!rJ0 (©f ®lfj? €tmB. 

THE SPANISH ARMADA. 
A. D. 1588. 

He blew with his breath and they were scattered. 

FSALM 

-^HERE they go, 

(^ Where the foam is wliite as snow ! 

The Sea's soft Hps kiss 
The loftiest fleet of ships 
That ever felt the lifting of the main : 
They are bringing woe to thee, 
England, Mistress of the Sea ! 
The wrath and defiance of Spain ! 
Iberia's majesties — the young, the strong, the 

wise — 
The flower of all the land, collected there ; 
They bear the wealth and fame of tlie mighty 

Spanish name, — 
Let the British craven heretic beware ! 

So they say. 

Let the willing seas make way. 

As she comes, the proud invader — the Invin- 
cible Armada — 

Where the blue waves wallow and the soft winds 
sigh ; 

Charged with her thousand thunders, she will 
dare the Sea that sunders, 

Prepare, my Mother England ! for the foeman 
draweth nigh. 

A hundred ships, and more, trample down the 
Ocean f rore. 

Each stately form a floating citadel. 



Ifff Itrte ®f ®Iff fflr000. 159 

VVliere a nation armed, on board, witli martial 

fury stored. 
Bring tlie terror and the bitterness of Hell. 

Witii such store, 

Have they left Corunnas sliore : 

Of tliat port made free, 

They assume the breezy empire of the Sea. 

lUit the stormy tempest lashed them, 

And the booming billow crashed them. 

And vexed exceedingly ! 

Now doth Neptune's bosom swell 

With this Fleet Invincible, 

Borne so proudly on by every eager wave ; 

And tlie fear of her great name 

Seems to justify her claim — 

The might of the unconquerable brave. 

With majestic ire, 

Their port holes flashing fire, 

Thro' myriad cannon thundering enorme ; 

These Steeds of Ocean, prancing, 

Are steadily advancing, — 

Grim tempest-lords and masters of the storm ! 

He, whose will 
This great navy must fulfil, 
Like the tiger lieth hid, 
And tells his beads, the Hermit of Madrid : 
Ay, like dragon in his cave, 
By the loud Boeotian wave, 
Croucheth gloomy-featured Philip in his dark 
Escorial ; * 

* A set ot buildingr^, half palace, half monastery, erected 
bv Philip near Madrid. 



160 ®l|f Itrte ®f ®l|f <&tmB. 



And his venom-hate he nurses, 
While tlie heretic he curses ; 
And he cries, — " Jlet' doom is ivriMen ! 
I will leave of thai pj-oi(d Britain hut a red 
memorial ! "' 

Here they come ! 

Let that hive, called London, linm ! 

The tramp of armed men 

Sounds in her streets, and rolling drums again 

Awake the startled night, 

With a tocsin of affright, 

And the clamorous bells are tollingall the while. 

The news has come, they say. 

Brought by ship to Plymouth Bay, 

That the Spanish Fleet is off Aurigny's Isle. 

Now my England, tried and true. 

Ah, say ! what wilt thou do ? 

Thou chartered soil, what will become of thee? 

Must thy unhappy sons, subdued by Spanish 

guns. 
No more be called, the Children of the Free ? 

Turn away 

From the dreadful seas, to pray ; — 

Let every olden fane 

Ring with the Miserere and the penitents' re- 
frain. 

Queen of the Narrow Seas, 

Thou art upon thy knees ! — 

God of the Faithful^ let thy strong right arn\ 
he hare I 



®I|i? Itr&B ®f Slfi? fflri000. 161 



Ah, England, never fear thee ! 

The mighty God is near thee ! 

(After thy Drakes andGrenvilles why despair?) 

He sitteth in II is Heaven, by whom wild waves 
are driven, 

And thou art safe and mighty in thy prayer ! 

Yet, think, imperilled Land ! 

Of Mary's bloody hand ; 

Of Latimer and Ridley's fiery pain ! 

Must England, void of honor, 

Bring forth another Bonner, 

And light the fires of Smithfield o'er again ? 

Rise ! Sons of noble Sires I 

Kindle your beacon fires, 

And let the message of the Patriot fly! 

From the clifEs of old Penzance to the Hebri- 
des, advance, 

With the watchword, ringing clear, 

That all the Land may hear, — 

Scots and Britons, now His time to do or die! 

Lo ! to-day, 

The Men of >>tate assemble, and they say : 

"What shall be our reply 

To the insults of yon Tyrant with his fleet who 

draweth nigh?" 
Now the higii Elizabeth, she deeply draws her 

breath, — 
She hath grown pale with anger, not with fear: 
" Then tet the haughty Don^ if he ivill, come 

sailing on; 
My Lords^ ivell welcome him, ivith proper 

cheer ! 



162 ®f|i? MlthB #f Mlf^ §.TmB. 

On the wave and on the shore, 

Hath not England fought before, 

And brought the tyrant down upon liis knees? 

Let this Spanish foe be mute, 

Ere with us he dares dispute 

Our title to the Eynpire of the Seas /" 

Each his share, — 

Let the warlike now prepare ; 

Fisher and farmer be 

The guardian and defender of the Free ! 

Meanwhile, from dark to dawn, 

The Ships come sailing on, 

With sails wide-spread, and Lion-banner flying; 

And on the cradle-deep, soft Panope asleep, 

With all the Sisters of the Calm, is lying. 

The Inquisition horde. 

With their tliumb-screws, wait on board, — 

They are nearing now the hated Saxon strand: 

But, my England, to reach thee, 

They must cross the avenging sea, — 

The Sea, that is in the hollow of God's hand ! 

Now, go forth, 

Men of might, and men of worth ! 

Let not these " dogs of Seville,''^ 

Who in British blood would revel. 

Set foot on English earth ! 

Were there ever yet such sailors, and such fight- 
ers on the Sea, 

As sailed that day from Plymouth to meet the 
enemy ! 



llfi^ MlthB (if W^B €mBB. 163 

Bravo ! my good Lord Howard ! 
The Narrow Seas he scoured ; 
He chased them through tlie Channel, 
As a hound might chase a spaniel, 
And he only fought to win ; 
And when English valor finished, 
Spanish pomp and pride were 'minished, 
And David's God, and Daniel's, He was ready 
ready to begin I 

Who is He, 

Who met them on the Sea ? 

The same — the same^ 

Who overthrew proud Mizraim,* and Assyria 

put to shame I 
Let the Poet now declare 
How He met and smote them there. 
With the cannon-thunders of the hurricane ; 
How the roaring Ocean-rips 
Strewed the coast with Spanish ships, 
Till Philip's hope forever was in vain : 
As if God, himself, aloud 
Had cried from out the cloud, — 
Never shall Freedom'' s huhrark here be 

shattered I 
While the Faithful fought in prayer. 
Till the Lord's right arm was bare. 
And from the Seas His enemies were scattered I 

* Egypt. 



164 ®t|i^ l!r50 ®f Mlqt &xmB. 



n 



IN NORTHUMliEKLAND STRAIT. 

O wavy water laughs, to-day, 
About our prow ; no sunny view 

Of lily-sail, bent faraway, 

A blossom on the blue. 

An icy fleet, moored all around, 

Throngs the dark Sea : the anxious eye 
Looks to the water's wintry bound. 
And to the wintry sky. 

But, like a thing of power and will, — 

A creature resolute and strong, — 
Our iron-mailed steamer still 
Urges her way along. 

The icy shelves are crushed aside ; — 

In vain their forces, clustering close ; 
While onward thro' the inky tide 
Indomitably she goes ! 

Fit emblem of a steadfast Soul, 

That, while Earth's hindering legions 
strive, 
Forces a pathway to his goal, 
And will at last arrive. 

Safe in the Haven's sheltering arms, 

Escaped, thro' peril and thro' strife. 
He anchors, safe from all alarms. 
And gains the port of Life. 



®I|f IMltM ®f ®I|f §.xmB. 165 



DANDELIONS. 

It dandelions onlv a^rew in greenhouses we .shiMild think 
them the prettiest flowers imaginable. 

— Mrs Ckaik. 

YJNEVER, dear Flower, thou'lt suffer sligltt 
[^ from me ! 

(^ Thy commonness but makes thee doubly 
dear : 
Tliat face we love we often wish to see, 

That voice we love we often wisli to hear. 
Thy briglit rosettes, 'mid grasses smiling near. 

Are golden sesames to ope, once more, 
The long-closed portals of fond memory, 
Thatlead to home and childhood's lovely lore. 

Lov'd Flower, that grew beside my Fatlier's 
door ! 
Still may I find thee where my feet are set ; 
And may tlie lowly children of the poor 
Still twine with tliee the purple violet. 
God surelv loves thee, who hath multiplied 
Thy humble flowers more than all the blooms 
of pride. 



I 



THE MIDNIGHT VIGIL 

A BALLAD OF HOME. 

'M THINKING of my mother- 
Just now, it seemed, she smiled : 
Again I'm speaking with her. 

And I feel I'm still her child. 
The hour is late ; I am lonely. 

For the midnight liour is near ; 
With my book and pen, I'm musing. 
And sitting silent here : 



166 ®te Itrte #f ®l|f ^tmB. 



Deep sounds the falling river, 
And the stars fill the calm sky ; 

And I feel her sacred breatliing, 
And I know my Mother's nigh. 

I'm thinking of my mother — 

I seem to hear her voice, 
As oft I've heard lier singing 

Some air of ancient choice, — 
Some hymn of martyr glory. 

Whose triumph rises clear ; — 
So I know her lot still blessed. 

And I feel that she is near ; — 
For a mother's love fails never 

From the child that once she bore ; 
And to a true son his A/other 

Is liis Mother evermore. 

Tm thinking of my Mother — 

Oh, there are hours when 
I'm worn with struggling, toiling. 

In this world of busy men ! 
Then lier form walks in the distance, 

And her memory shines afar, 
As upon the brow of Evening 

Tranquil rests the Vesper Star : 
What has she with dust and conflict — 

Slie^ whose home is in the sky ? 
But to-niglit my heart is quiet, 

And I know that she is nigh. 



®I|ii? Strte ®f Miff ®r00j0. 167 

I'm tliinking of my Mother — 

How oft she looked on me, 
While I hung upon her bosom 

In the dream of infancy ! 
Then her eyes were anxious, tender, 

Filled with sympathy and ruth. 
As she oft would gaze upon me 

In the waywardness of youth : 
Ah ! perchance she sees more clearly 

All my faults and follies now ; 
Hut I look upon her, seeing 

Never frown upon her brow. 

I'm dreaming of you, my Mother — 

And, oh ! 'tis a thought of woe, 
That e'er, in your fond confiding, 

Your spirit a pang could know : 
And my heart cries to you, — Forgive 
me, 

If ever / caused you pain, — 
If e'er, when you trusted and loved me, 

I gave you not love again ! 
It was ever my fault to be heedless, 

To wander, and dream, and forget ; 
And the gentle word and the kindly 
deed 

Are undone and unspoken yet. 

I'm thinking of my mother — 
7, who mingled with the throng, 

Seeking fame, or seeking pleasure. 
Lured by many a siren-song ! 



168 ito MltM ®f ®l|f ^mm. 



Ah ! what victories, what prizes, 

Have these eager hands possessed ? 
. . Mother ! I come home, at evening, 

In thy heart, thine arms, to rest ! 
Teach me the sweet lore of childhood! 

As when your babe's sinless brow 
Drew your mother-eyes so fondly, 

So you're looking on me now. 

I'm thinking of my Mother- 
On the hill two graves were made ; 

In the earlier sleeps my Father, 
Mother by his side was laid : 

There's a cot upon the hillside — 
Never rising smoke is seen, 

Never face looks forth at morning, 
Never lisrhted lamp at e'en ; — 

From that home no more she cometh, 
As she came in bygone year ; 

But the House of Many Mansions 
Opens and I feel her near ! 

I'm thinking of my Mother — 

As yon river-wave doth roll, 
Freshening thro' its own green valley, 

So her memory through my Soul ! 
When my heart is hot within me. 

When my spirit droopeth low. 
Then from out the clime of Childhood 

Fancy's stream will softly flow ; 



®Il|i? llrte fflf ilff fflr0B0. 169 

Olden friends will gather round me. 
Long-lost scenes rise to my sight ; 

Then I feel my mother near me, 
As I've felt her here to-night. 

Pemaquid Falls, Maine, Aug. 19(4 

MOUNTAIN AND POET 

FROM THE FRENCH OF GAUTIER, 

^^^^HOU idle Mountain !" cried the chid- 
^) ing Plain, 

'' Nor fruit nor flowergrow on thy wind- 
swept brow ! " 
*' Thou Poet ! '' cried the Crowd, '* What use 

hast thou?" 
Who saw him as lie tuned his lyre again. 
Then spake the wrathful Mountain: ''I con- 
strain 
The harvests on thy teeming fields to grow ; 
From tip of my white breast I bid to flow 
The silver-threading streams ; I feed thy grain; 
I temper thy noon sun ; I hold the cloud ; 
Knead the pale avalanche ; the thunders roll ; 
Dissolve the crystal glacier." Then outspake 
The large-browed Poet, answering the Crowd: 
"Spare me my lyre, since from its smitten wires 
Tears trickle, and break forth enlivening fires; 
And chide me not, since from my wounded Soul 
Gushes a stream the thirst of man to slake. 



170 ®I|f Ifrte ®f Wift §.xmB. 



AN AUTUMNAL LETTER 

ADDRESSED TO CERTAIN FRIENDS, WITH THE 

REQUEST THAT IT BE READ IN THEIR 

CONVIVIAL ASSEMBLIES. 

T T(^HEN Autumn winds begin to blow, 
VKyAnd waning woods make splendid show, 
In all their painted pride ; 
And the blue Aster 'gins to nod, 
And sunny plumes of Goldenrod 

Gild every green wayside ; 
When flies the Thistle's downy seed, 

And silken butterflies 
O'er brightest flowers with white wings 
speed. 
My heart within me sighs, 
As places and faces 

Come back, I knew of yore — 
The fond hearts, the kind hearts— 
The days that are no more. 

O good, the ruddy fruit to see 
Hang ripe on every scented tree, — 

The harvest gold mature ! 
They tell us God's almighty hand 
Hath made, thro'out the teeming land, 

The bread of man secure. 
But, ah ! the birds of song are dumb, 

Tho~ calm the sunshine lies ; 
And to the eye a tear will come 

When wide the red leaf flies. 
Forever we sever 



Sfff MuhB (if Wilt €tmB. 171 

8()ine sacred, tender tie — 
.Still fretting', regretting:, 
Tlie dreamy days go by. 

What things these days will bring to mind, 
Of temperate suns, of airs refined, 

And skies divinely clear ! 
The heart its sacred treasure sums. 
When, lo ! " Congenial Autumn comes, 

The Sabbath of the Year ! '■* 
But when loved forms and faces part, 

And dearest ones are gone, 
A holy hush falls round the heart, 
Where we are left alone. 
Ah, sweeter, and better. 

The scenes where we abide — 
True-hearted, departed — 
That they were by our side ! 

O, pensive pleasure, sweet to all 
Who lonely muse at evenfall, 

When fires of sunset burn. 
And to its tent of twilight blue 
We see that marvel, ever new, 
The Vesper Star, return, — 
To wake some Spirit-haunting strain, 
Like waves of Ocean vast, 
And summon Friendship s hallow'd train 
From out the holy Past ; — 
O pleasure, and treasure ! 
O gift beyond compare ! 

* John Logan. 



172 Sfjif l!r&0 ®f W^^ €mm. 

In dreaniinjr, in seennnfj, 

To meet our dear ones there I 

Ve beauteous tields 1 loved of yore, 
When lingering on Acadia's sliore, 
Ye friends that tliere I knew, 
1 greet you with a song of clieer, 
And drop for Memory's sake a tear, 

Or waft a wish ftjr you. 
Kind hearts ! for you Love's cup I fill. 

And bid her wine to How ; 
In Memory's leasli 1 hold you still, 
And will not let you go ! 

With meeting and greeting. 
Some pais a careless day ; 
Faint hearted, soon parted, — 
A Friend s a Friend for rvye. 

O. blest are they who still < ndure, 
Who keep their friendships bright and 
pure. 
Their loves without alloy ! 
lu vain the wheel of Time may roll. 
While Soul delights in kindred Soul, 

Earth knows no deeper joy : 
For us the noblest hearts have beat ; 

Ours are the Men Divine ; 
Poet and Sage — the wise, the great — 
Are they not yours and mine ? 
No fear, then; we'll share then, 

What treasure Love may hold — 
The sweetest, completest— 
The honey and the gold. 



®l|ij? ItrdB ®f il|]? ffir0i00. 173 



And Nature, too, is ours ! Tlie Fiard, 
Who liioked on all with fond regard, 

To us doth sweetly call : 
Beliold her charms : ller '' hills and 

oiood'',"' 
Iler "- sweeping vales and foaming 
floods^ 
A7^e free alike to all. 
In dai^s when dasies deck the ground^ 

And blackbirds ivhistle cle<u\ 
With honest joy our hearts ivill bound 
[ 7'o see the coming year ! 

On braes when we please, then^ 
WeHlsit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme tiWt iveHl time tiVt, 
Andsing'twhen we hae done.'^i 

Ours be the sound of Sabbath bells, 
When high the boundless rapture swells 
On every wind that blows ; 

And ours the "high-builtorgans," played 
When clear the choir sings, ''God us 

AYDE,''t 

Where He his power bestows ; 
Ours be the altar and the shade, 
Where Souls adoring come ; 
And ours — where warm our hearts are 
laid— 
The sacred joys of Home: 
Forever, and ever. 

Here let our love abide ! 

t Burns. Epistle to Davie. 

X Wordsworth. The White Doe of Rylstone. 



174 i 



Great Giver ! aJi, never 

<Uir hearts from tliese divide I 

Tlieii let us, friends, f>ii» liearts content 
With wliatsoeVr is excellent, 
Above, below, tlie skies : 
He, ours what treasure may endure — 
The good, the lovely, and the pure — 

The '^everlasting prize "' 
Let us tlie liiiiher Call obey. 

And woo the gracious Powers; 
So, wlien Earth's shadows pass away, 
Life's substance mav be ours. 
My greeting, repeating. 

To you these rliymes I send ; 
Delaying, while praying 
You blessing withoi.t end. 

WHITTIER 

O Man belov'd ! thou Tiast been missed and mourn'd, 
Since tothv Grod thv s^entle Soul returned. 



m 



HEN to shed blood and desecrate Man- 
kind 
The feet of men a'-e swift, and unre- 
strained 

Their hands ; when Earth is darken'dand pro- 
faned 

By Superstition and the sordid mind ; 

When eyes are lustful-lit, to Beauty blind, 

And Souls with envy burn, instead of love ; 

When Hate has passionate hunger ; when the 
Dove 



ite Itrte ®f ®hf ' (Br00B. 175 



Is torn by th' Viiltiire,shrieking down the wind; 
— When scenes and thoughts like tliese my 

heart would grieve, 
Then turn I back to thee, thou gracious one ! 
And thy lov^d page, and thou, again do weave 
Comfort's torn web, and re-knit hopes undone: 
The world reblooms, while Heaven smiles on 

us s ', 
Walking with thee the groves of Haverhill. 

THE PLEA. 

OVE, when I hear tliy soft voice swell 
With the rich notes I love so well. 
One song doth sweetest seem to be, — 
It is — '•'•Remember me.'''' 

'Tis then I fondly lean to trace 
The pathos of thine eager face, — 
The tenderness that dwells in thee, 
And in, '•'• Rem em.be r me."" 

The sweet appeal mounts to its close, 
And to my inmost Spirit goes ; 
Love, hovering in thy minstrelsy, 

Crieth, " Remember me ! " 

Let not the world's forgetfulness 
Thy mind o'ershade, thy heart oppress: 
What is my world ?— It lies in thee ! 
Ah, Love, remember me ! 

Within, around, if all be changed, 
With earlier loves lost, or estranged, 



176 ®I|]? Strte ®f Wilt §.tmB. 

Oh, thcD, by all they seemed to be, 
Do thou remember me ! 

Should I in aught unworthy prove, 
Or sin against thy truth and love. 

Let me not yet be lost to thee, 

But still remember me. 

If, in the hour of hope or dream, 
Some godlike touch did on me seem, 
By all I was, or aimed to be. 

My Love, remember me ! 

By all fair scenes beneath the sun. 
By all loved forms we looked upon. 
By our hearts' solemn ecstasy. 

My Love, remember me ! 

Before thee should it me befall 

To reach the bourn that waits for all, 

As one who still has love for thee, 

O Love, remember me ! 
Was there some blemish tliat thy love 
Wept to behold, and would remove ; 
Forget what thou no more canst see. 

And O, remember me ! 

I would not be a shade, to blind, 
A discord, to perplex thy mind ; 
As some sweet psalm, whose chords agree, 
May'stthou remember me. 



Sljf MuM ®f ®I|f €tmB. 177 

But if before me thou shalt go 
To that dim shore th' Imivortals know, 
There thou, till glad thy face I see, 
Dear Love, remember me ! 

FELLOWSHIP. 

TT(^H() knows contempt and the despite of 
\KJ man ; — 

Ay, who hath pride, to hide the wound 
of love ; 
And who hath borne him calmly as he can. 
Who feels a bound and struggling passion move ; 
Who from a slight hath quickly turned away, 
( As one who plucks a rose, to find a snake 
CurFd round his finger ; yet will scorn to slay. 
So shakes it from him, tho' the anguish take 
His panting breath ; — or, who hath been pre- 
ferred, 
To be rejected, — rues a doting friend ; 
Who finds his fault appraised, his merit slurr'd; 
Who, not unworthy, knows himself unkenned; 
Who is a mark Scorn shoots at ; — lo ! I stand 
Beside him, share his lot, and hold his hand ! 



CORN OF THE MOUNTAIN 

There shall be an handful of corn in the earth upon the 
top of the mountains ; the fruit thereof shall shake like 
I-,ebanon. 

Psalm 72:16. 

LIVING Corn of the Mountain ! The 
hymn that the Psalmist sung 
Has told in its deathless music, as of heav- 
enly bells outrung, 



178 ilp? MltM i§{ il|f €tmB. 



How the bread of the Imngry nations from the 
Heights of Love liath sprung. 

O Living Corn of tlie Mountain ! God's multi- 
plying Bread, 

8ent down from the heiglits of sunshine whence 
the streams of Life are led, 

Your grains are the hidden jewels wherewith 
our Souls are fed ! 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! O Life of Hu- 
manity ! 

There are many with eyes uplifted, as longing 
Thy gift to see ; 

There are many souls anhungered that sit and 
wait for Thee ! 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! And canst 

thou prosper so, 
Where the splintery peaks pierce liraven, and 

tlie icy streamlets flow, 
While the glistening palms of Abana, and the 

cedars wave below ! 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! The gift it is 

downward borne 
From the rainbo wed home of the glacier, where 

the sun makes glad the morn ; 
The hand of the Master scatters the largess of 

golden Corn. 

O Living Corn of the ^fountain ! Theriverand 

plain below, 
Without the God of the Mountain, cannot make 

the Corn to grow ; — 
Though Man may plant or may water, He the 

increase must bestow. 



ilff Itrte ®f ®I|f fflr000» 179 



O Living Corn of tlie Mountain ! In vain is 

Mans help, He said ; 
But, where He blessetli and giveth,the ice and 

tlie rocks liave bread, 
And tlie llinty sands of the desert breed lilies 

and roses red. 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! God give and 

scatter Thee ! 
Thou art the hidden fulness and sweetness of 

Deity, 
And Thou art the excnlknt Guerdon, as air and 

as sunshine free ! 

O Living Corn of tlie Mountain ! God speaks, 
and the deed is done ; 

The fiat of Creation is a Word tliat dotli swift- 
ly run ; 

And the liarvestof Ciirist's great Passion is wa- 
viuii like Lebanon. 

O Living Corn of tlie Mountain ! Spring thou 
but prosperously I 

The fruitless tares shall wither, 'mid the har- 
vest waving high ; 

The living Corn shall ripen, wliile cockle and 
darnel die. 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! O Food of the 

World, wide-spread ! 
Let faint hearts feed upon Thee, and let mi/ 

Soul be fed ; 
And let the perishing People draw nigh to the 

Living Bread ! 

O Living Corn of the Mountain ! Sow it, and 
&pw it abroad, 



180 ite MlxM ®f ®to @.tmB. 



Wherever the feet of Famine and Misery have 
trod ; 

In the faces of .Sin and Sorrow, reap the harv- 
est-field of (iod ! 

PALKSTINA. 

T' TE HILLS (.f God, by Angels trod ! 
\^Ji Ye beauteous skies o'erspread ! 
^ J I hail your rocks, your flowery sod, 
Whereon the homeless Son of God 
Rested liis weary liead ! 

Land of the Lamp, the Seraph Clioir, 

The Propliet and tfie Sajje ; 
The Land where David swept his lyre; — 
Of Him who sent the Holy Fire — 
The Joy of every Ajje. 

Ye groves of palm, ye cedar trees. 

Ye olives, cool and dim. 
He knew vour charms and mysteries ! 
Ye give, to some, your balm and ease ; 

Ye gave the Cross to Him, 

Ye skies, thatliold the starry spell 

Of Bethleiiem's natal morn ! 
The horror of great darkness fell, 
When that meek Son of Israel 
Suffered the death of scorn. 

Ye Streams, from your wild founts that 
burst, 
Wliere lone the wild deer sips ! 
His own are ye ; yet, at the worst. 



®jf|f MltM ®f o^lff <&mBB. 181 

Ye could not slake tl:e bitter thirst 
That parched his dying lips. 

O Iloiy Land I I look on thee 

With tearful eyes and dim ! 
For rest, or for security. 
Canst thou be fair and good to r.:e, 

That dealt so ill with Him ? 



TO MADAM DREYFUS 

©WOMAN, of tlie deathless love I to thee 
Our eyes admiring turn ; rejoiced to find 
That tliou art of the brave and constant 
kind, 
Exaltiuff faith, even to sublimity ! 
Thy gentle JSoul grows firm, that thou may'st 
- ■ be 

The prop on wliicli thy stricken mate may lean^ 
Condemned to liuddle with the vile and mean, 
In that low Island of the tropic sea. 

Pilgrim, who followest a kniglitly quest, 
Knocking at gates of kings with tearful plea, 
For tliy wronged consort, let thy suit prevail: 
Nor be the harsh and sordid world unblest 
By sucli divine example, — seeing thee^ 
With Truth and Justice, for thy Holy Grail. 



182 3I|]? ItrJ^ (if ilf]? fflir000. 



HYMN 
Sung at the Dedication of Moody Me- 
morial Chapel, at (jOOd-will fakm, 
June 16, 1897. 

AiK. — O for the peace that floweth like a river! 

>^S MOSES, on t!ie Holy Mount appearing, 
L-5r Received the pattern of Thine ancient 
J shrine, — 

Thy word, O Lord with awful rapture liearing, 
— So now we wait tliat perfect will of Tliine. 

Here now inspire us froniThy sacred Mountain, 
To wliich we look, as if Tliy face to see ; 

And consecrate, out of Thy heart's deep fount- 
ain, 
These walls we raise — a temple unto Tliee. 

(> Thou, who sav'sttlie helpless and the lowly. 
The outcast Souls who gath'rest to Thy fold, 

Gather themhere,Thou gracious One, and holy! 
And let their tearful eyes Tliy love behold. 

Here come to youtliful Souls with Thy salva- 
tion; 
Here let tlie voice of prayer and praise arise; 
Here shape tlie stones for Tliy sublime foun- 
dation — 
That Temple Thou art rearing in the skies. 

How frail our work, however wrought and 
gilded ! 
Transient our lives, where all is insecure : 
Lord ! in the House Thy glorious Pland hath 
builded 
May we behold the things that shall endure! 



W^f llrte ®f ilfj? €xmB. 183 

SACER JESU, CARE CHRISTE. 

r ACUED JESU! Christ, who carest ! 
NWho this world's great burden bearest, 
''We are lost, if Thou despairest 
At our sin's deep dye ! 
Love unmeasured, Love untiring, 
Cursed by Souls of Thy desiring, 
On the Cross for Man expiring, — 
Savior, hear our cry ! 

VVitli Thy wan brow's saddest seeming, 
With Thy precious blood down-streaming,- 
Hallowed flood for our redeeming ! — 

We behold Thee nigh ! 
By Thy thorns, Thy nails deep-driven. 
By that cry that pierces Heaven, 
By rent veil, and tomb wide riven. 
Savior^ hear our cry ! 

Bitter cup, and bloody passion — 
Utmost Love's sublime expression — 
Let them be for our salvation, — 

Do not pass us by ! 
By the might that did retrieve Thee, 
By the Heaven that did receive Thee, 
By the crowns the ransomed weave Thee, 

Savior^ hear our cry ! 
Sacred Jesu ! Love, ascended ! 
Scorn and Cross and Conflict ended ; 
High enthroned, and angel-tended, — 

Monarch of the Sky 1 
Who, when Thou art interceding, 



184 SI|f MltM (if U^t &tmB. 



Can resist Thy lips^ sweet pleading,— 
Advocate, whose wonnds are bleeding! — 
Savior, hear our cry ! 

Sacred Jesus ! Christ, who carest ! 
Still our mortal way Thou farest. 
Still with us the Cross Thou bearest, 

That on us must lie : 
Drive our darkness, heal onr pining, 
Lucent Star of Morning, shining ! 
Glorious Sun, no more declining 1 

Savior, hear our cry ! 

HARMONY HALL 
Or The Sex's Enterprise. 

BEAD AT THE DEDICATION OF THE OLD UNI- 

VERSALIST CHURCH, AT HAMPDEN 

HIGHLANDS, WHEN IT HAD 

BEEN REVAMPED AND 

RECHRISTENED, 

TUST above the Penobscofs circuitous tide 
@J Is a famous old Town, where some Ladies 

reside : 
The same have been busy, and issue tlieir call 
To enter and dedicate Harmony Hall. 

This place was called Hampden, so I have been 

told, 
For a warrior doughty and patriot bold, 
Who, when haughty King Oharlie stepped over 

the line, 
Erected his back-bone, ( more properly, sjnne. ) 



®l|j? MlthB ®f Ulqt &mm. 185 



Soon was headless, this tyrant, so faitliless and 
sleek ; 

Yet not so, the Ladies, of whom we here speak; 

For in all sorts of ways, and in all sorts of wea- 
ther. 

One scarcely could move but tliey all moved to- 
getlier. 

In this Town stoi^d a Church, — it is standing 

here still, — 
A landmark, soon spied on the brow of the hill ; 
Rut with it Old Time had such liberty taken 
That by God and by Man it seemed almost or- 

saken.\ 

It was built by tliat sect — so the wisacres tell — 

Who would fain have abolished the Devil and 
Hell ; 

But the Metliodists prayed so, and sang so, and 
shouted, 

That they all were dumfounded and thorough- 
ly routed. 

To silence and dust were left pulpit and pew ; 
The old walls grew dingy,the spire went askew; 
The weeds grew around it unhindered galore, 
And bushes erew up thro' tlie steps by the door. 

The broken-back ridge-pole was seen to be sag" 
sing ; 

The pews were old-timers, the carpet was rag- 
ging ; 

The windows were broken, waxed dusty, the 
panes. 

And the plaster showed traces of down-leak- 
ing rains. 



186 ilfj? Strte #f ®I|j? €tmB. 



Tlie fast-rotting: belfry was tlireatening to fall; 
Grown silent, the bell never issued its call : 
Then uprose the Fathers : ''Tl.is thing must 

come down, 
Nor longer disgrace and disfigure the town. 

And sometimes tlie Metliodist Preaclier looked 

glum, 
When folk from abroad were beginning to come, 
And, getting astray in their dubious search, 
Mistook that old thing for the Methodist 
Church ! 

Then the Ladies in Council began to convene : 

Now a different order of tilings may be seen ; 

For " Village Im.provemciit^'''' impregnates 
the air, 

And tliey will not demolisli, but build and re- 
pair. 

Where a will has been found tliere is surely a 

way ; 
And if something be doing, and doing to-day. 
It is certain that something will shortly bedone : 
Then up ! In a jiffy the work is begun ! 

To straighten the crooked and make the dull 

shine. 
Now joiners and painters and masons combine ; 
They cut down expenses, to make the tiling go, 
— The men will work cheaply tor woni^n, you 

know ! 

Now, look all around you — the thing is done 
brown ! 



®l|if MlthB ®f ®I|i^ &xmB. 187 



It is taking the glow from all spots of the town ! 
Who would think that the women — going in, 

hit or miss,— 
Would ever turn out a spick-sjjan thing ^ like 

this ! 

Now they've garnished the walls, and hung pic- 
tures thereon ; 

Now they've straightened the belfry andcleared 
up tiie lawn : 

'^ YeivunHdeuiv it /" the moss-backsare mut- 
tering still ; 
But ''they DONE IT r' just while they 
were saying, " We will ! " 

For the women 2iTe prophets^ — and so it is true. 
They should all share the profits, now this is 

put through : 
They hB.d faith, to begin with, and works, at 

the close ; 
And they smiled at all gainsaying, — under the 

rose ! 

A day was appointed — that time of the year 
When started Miss Anthony's mortal career : 
They made their arrangements, and issued their 

call 
To enter and dedicate Harmony Hall. 

To tell the plain truth should not be an affront : 

Some things women will do, and some things 
they ivoyVt ! 

The "grab-bag," the "shake-down," the bot- 
tle and ball 

Shall never edge in to this Harmony Hali 



188 Bte Strte ®f Mht €tmB. 



No hot party-sponter shall stand on this floor, 
No dealer in dogma come in thro' this door, 
No railer at creeds or religion be heard 
From this handsome platform to utter a word. 

But brothers and sisters who work for reform 
Shall find the liouse lighted, and feel the seats 

warm ; 
Shall singer and lecturer hither repair, 
And these walls shall reecho the sermon and 

prayer. 

So here we all are, and the feast is begun : 
Walk in — you a e welcome, eacli daughter and 

son ! 
Our joy should be great, and our courage not 

small 
For this is the birthday of Harmony Hall. 

So here's to the Ladies in Hampden who dwell. 
Whose deeds these rough verses endeavor to 

tell ! 
Long may their brothers respond to their call, 
And long may they flourish in Harmony Hall! 

CELESTIAL CAPERS 

WROTE FOR YE DELECTATION OF MYNE 
INFANTE. 

-^^HAT old cantankerous warrior, INfars, 
(^Harried the planets, and raided the stars; 

And all because he meddled with Venus, 
And said, " Let us have a kiss between us,'" 
And she thought, " We m^ight — if no one seen 
us.'''' 



Milt Itrte ®f Miff @.tmB. 189 

She felt such secrecy became her, 
And didn't suspect s)ie was off lier grammar. 
But 8<)1 got up and tried to stop her, 
Declaring such deeds to be very improper ; 
While Mars raved round, as mad as a hopper. 

He was'nt able for monstrous Jupiter, 

For all his sizzling and frying ; 
But as for Earth, he made a scoop at her, 
And sent the old beldame flying ; — 
VVho stepped on the youngest of her daughters, 
While she wept away the last of her waters, 
And cracked her head into four quarters. 
" Oh I let us get out of the road ! " cried Uranus, 
" Or else this murderous demon will brain us ! 
For therecouldn'tbe much more dust in the air 
If the Bull were loose, or the bigger Bear ! " 
As that good matron, old Mother Saturn, 
Was feeding her fine little moons. 
He at them came flying,and set them all crying. 

And dirtied their new pantaloons. 
This matter is foul, that here I am stating, 
And it surely was most exasperating! 

This 2^{ars was in for a nasty job : 

It was very rough of him, — 

Had there been enough of him. 
You miglit have called him a bloomin'' mob ; 
And then, before you could get him to cease. 
You might have to call in the Celestial Police. 
But, for one person, ( if you don''t think so, try 
it!) 



190 Ulft ItriE ®f ®l|f €mm. 

He was able to kick up a deuce of a riot. 
He took the Fish by his golden flipper; 
He broke the handle off the Dipper ; 
He snatched the Great Dog's best bone from it, 
And made it so sick that it liad to vomit ; 
Then he palled the tail clean out of a Comet; 
He broke the strings of the magic Lyre, 
And set the straw in the Wain on fire; 
He splashed about in the Milky Way, 
And acted like one quite '' over the bay,'' — 
That manner, irregular and flighty, 
The frequent result of Aqua Vitae ; 
— He was run quite mad with his fumes and va- 
pors. 
And was cutting up all these nasty capers, 
When suddenly up came his wise old father, 
And held him, with sundry jerks and pitches, 
By the hair of his head and the slack of his 

breeches;— 
Saying that he would a little rather 
That all such mettlesome young sky-scrapers 
Would quit a cutting their nasty capers. 
With that he took him across his knee. 
And laid on the ding-bats— O 71 e — two — 

THREE ! '! 

Do you, too, Sonny, kick up stars. 

And behave ridiculously, 
Till your Papa serves you as Sol did Mars, 

And takes you over his knee '? 



\© 



Mlqt Strte (©f ®l|f fflra^B. 191 



GUIDAMAC 

THE UTTLK MANCHUKIAN POKY OWNED 
AND USED BY M SON, WHILE A DEN- 
TAL PKACTITIONEK AT HANKOW, 
CHINA. 

ELL, Dr. James, what is't ye lack ? 
I need a liorse 111 have Guidaniac, 

— Just GUIDAMAC 1 

A dainty pony — no shambling hack ; 
A steed of merit, is Giiidamac. 

A beauty, hey ? — Your white or black 
Can liold no candle to Guidamac! 

He won a purse on the fancy track; — 
Put f/iaf day's over, with Guidamac. 

My own good maffeo^* be not slack 
To bring from li's stable, Guidamac. 

Bridle, saddle, and haversack — 
Here in a jiffv is Guidamac ! 

I made him slick as a bran new placque: 
Here, Master mine, is your Guidamac! 

Steady ! the while I mount his back ; 
Then ofE at a canter, goes Guidamac. 

Look, you ! . . John Chinaman ! — Good lack ! 
You must clear the bund t for Guidamac! 

That Sikh | looks as if he might hit me a 

whack : 
Stay ! Don't you touch my Guidamac ! 

* [ Mafo ]— a Chinese hostler. 

t The principal t horoughfare of an Oriental city, which 
fronts the harbor with its shipping. This always abounds 
in coolie laborers. 

J [ Seek) — East Indian policemen, employed in Chin- 
ese treaty ports. 



192 3l|]? Itrte (Sf ®I|]? &.mm. 



See those canguecl § fellows, with pigtails 

black; 
Why, they're hitched with halters, Guida- 

mac ! 

Faugh! This is a coolie'.^ straw-built shack' 
We must hold our noses, Guidaniac ! 

The pools are green, and thefiltii is black, — 
See the pigs with the children, Guidamac ! 

Here men grow brutes ! See that monstrous 

pack 
On a woman's shoulders, Guidamac ! 

Life, fall'n .90 Iniv /—What gibberish-clack ! 
Here horses are gentlemen, Guidamac ! 

Three times three, round the grand race- 
track ; 
Then home at a gallop, goes Guidamac. 

What ails the beast ! — Won't he stop ? — 

Alack ! 
You've run down a eooiie, Guidamac! 

On, by the Yang-tze's yellow track, 
Past hut and pagoda, goes Guidamac. 

Ugh ! ugh ! — Why, my very bones you rack ! 
Stiff f — soref—Oyou dratted Guido.mac! 

Here, my good maff^eo, I'm used up ! — Back, 
For a month, to his stable with Guidamac ! 

§ Chinese petty ciiininals, cond -inned to weai a wood- 
en collar, called acangue. 



Ui^t Tilths ®f Slfj? €rmB. 193 



DOCTOR ROiUN 

I went a-stiolli ig : his evening, across a stretch of wild 
pasture hmd leading dowi tlie VXhiting river, having for 
niv companion a quaint old minister of a like fanciful turn 
Avi;h nivsell", united with a playiul humor. A Jack Robin 
s.i'.g his evtn:<ong in the Summer twilight, hopping about 
on a grassv hillock, and we paused to look alhim. ' 'What 
is that fellow saying ?"' inquired my companion. "\\ hatev- 
er you can imagine," I responded 'Nay, hut listen," my 
companion persisted, and t» 11 me if he does not say — 'Keel 
'iM-CuRE "IM, Geeve'iji PHYSIC ?'' I was bouii'd to ad- 
mit, after liaving- heard hini again that Jack had uttered a 
cheerful sat!'-e — or what setined like it — upon a certain un- 
licensed school of doctors and 'heir patiei.t.s — ^^[ovrnalof 
Pastor Felix. 



/^ORTH, onp evening, bent on ranging, 
^^ \\ lien Winter into vSj>rinc was clianging, 
I went. — with blues still deejier blueing, 
And all tlie ghosts of nigh.t pursuing ; 
Thro' April chnids the s-un was breaking, — 
But, Oh, my liead — my liead was aching ! 
My feet were cold, my ears were ringing; — 
When Doctor Robin set up singing : 

"O che-e-r-up, cheer ! 

See here ! See here ! 
What is tlie matter — wliat is tlie matter, 
That you are so glum, and not any fatter ? 
What is it — what is it ? 
Is it phtJiisic ? Is it phthisic ? 
Keel ' i m--cnre-^ im—geeve-' im-pJiy-tiicke ! " 

''Doctor I '' I cried, " In an abysm 

I'm plunged — of gout and rheumatism! 

I've meningitis and paresis, 

And half a score of dread diseases : 



194 ilfie TMxhB ®f ®l|f &tmB. 

Dyspepsia, and consumption, too. 
My hesitating steps pursue ; 
Slow fever to my blood is clinging; — " 
But Doctor Robin kept on singing : 

"O che-e-er-up, cheer ! 
See here ! See here ! 
What is the matter — what is the matter, 
That you are so glum, and not any fatter? 
What is it— what is it ? 
Is it phthisic ? Is it phtliisic ? 
KGel-''rrn---c,ure-Um--geeve-'i7n-phij-sleke I " 

"No, sir ! however you may watch me, 
So napping you shall never catch me ! 
Throw physic to the dogs and fishes,'' 
I said, with many pshaws ! and fjishes ! 
" Besides, ( himself each mortal pleases,) 
I like my own few pet diseases ; 
Worse am I, alway, by my notion, 
For every pesky pill or potion 
The doctor or the nurse are bringing ; — " 
While DocTOK Robin still kept singing : 

" O che-e-r-up-cheer ! 
See here ! See here ! 
What is the matter — what is the matter, 
That you are so glum, and not any fatter ? 

What is it — what is it? 
Is it phthisic ? Is it phthisic ? 
Keel-' im—cui'e-'' 1771^ — geeve-Hm-phy-sicke /'"■ 



®ll|f Itrte (©f ilff fflr00B. 195 

''Well,' said I, yielding, "cease your jibing, 
And presently begin prescribing." 
''I will," said Doctor Bob, benignly : 
"Abstain from swat"? thatdTinhclivinely ; 
Take three bread pills, upon retiring ; 
Use one old saw until perspiring ; 
Your sulky spleen remember never. 
And do not overload your liver ; 
When in the morning round you potter, 
Drink one good quart of clear cold water ; 
Take exercise, up to the letter. 
And in a fortnight you'll be better. 
Good day, sad Sir, — my way I'm winging ; 
But first I'll take my pay in singing : 
"• O che-e-er-up, cheer ! 
See here ! See here ! 
What is the matter — what is the matter, 
That you are so glum, and not any fatter ? 

What is it V What is it ? 
Is it phthisic ? Is it phthisic ? 
Keel-' im— cure-'' hn, — geeve-Hrn-phy-sicke .'" 

CANT. 

RIES Johnson,—" Clear your mind of 

cant ;" 
— A caution most significant 
Of that philosopher, indeed ; 
And one to which the wisest may take heed. 
Bnt 'tis a task that must require 
1Such vigilance as will not tire ; 



196 ®I|f Strte ®f M^f €r000. 



For, though your mental lioiise inay be 
Oft swept and garnished, and niade free. 
The banislied dust you (annct burn, 
The sevenfold lej^ion may return, 
And demons riot, and fierce passions burn. 

When man shall with the snake begin 
To slough away his annual skin ; 
When mortal eyes, pure as the blue 
Unclouded lieaven, see all things true ; 
When Bias, I'rejudice, and gray- 
Beard Bigotry are done away ; 
When Dogma holds no longer sway ; 
When Neurotis shall cease to rant^'; 
Then may we wliolly clear our mind of cant. 

Even Johnson^s x>onderous intellect 
Cant could occasionally infect, 
When, of his circle chief, the Cham 
Portentous frowned, where he would damn; 
And all the good, and all the great, 
Must find their portion, soon or late. 
Look down the Pantheon's statued aisle : 
Darkens the gnomon of Carlyle ; 
Lightens Voltaire's most withering smile; 
Majestic Goethe stands aloof. 
In love with silence ; Swift, forsooth, 
Disinterested zeal professes ; 
And Burns Hypocrisy undresses ; 
Ibsen uplifts the arm of Thor, 
To smite and ban what priestcraft bles- 



ilff Itra^ m ®I|j? ^mBB. 197 



Cant and pretence they all abhor ; 
But, while they thunder against Cant, 
Their own peculiar kind they vaunt ; 
And wh'^res the image-breaker, say, 
Will from his fetich wholly break away ? 

DESPATCH 

FROM O. SEE HUSTLE, OF HURLEYVILLE. 

■^^E SENT up his card, 

K^ And followed it hard : 
(f He appeared in the study. 
With a face full and ruddy ; 
With brusqueness and brains, 
Fresh in from the trains ; 
With moustache and whisker, — 
A lark is not brisker ; — 
With a big burly body. 
And a slight smell of toddy ; 
Rough, stocky, thick-chested, — 
He burst into the study,— 
This man from the West, did. 
'' How are you, old pard ? 
Come, now, let us shake ! 
I have come up to make 
To yoj my regard ; 
For the '' Bonnie Brier 
Bush,'" much I admire — 
I heard it from Lizzie ; — 
Now, T see that you're busy,- - 
And busy am I, — 
So, I'll bid y' good-bye !— 



198 iljiie MlthB ®f il|i? ®rj000. 

I've no time t' talk t' ye, 
Because — dent y' see, 
I'm booked n-'w, to be 
RigJit off for Drnnitochiy I 
How are ye ? — I'm prime ! 
— 'Tis a cosy, snug den ! — 
WeU^ . . so long ! . . . Sometime 
I may run in again ! " 
And so, with a laugh, 
He straightway was off : 
Aud the leisurely Ian 
M'Laren, replying 
To the tingling air. 
And the empty chair, 
Said : '' Good Sir, thanks to you 
For this kind interview ! 
I think I may do — 
By just moving your way, — 
Double duty to-day." 

WHAT RIGHT? 

T T(5\IIAT right have I to feast, while others 
\KJ starve ? 

What right to reign, while others toil 
and serve ? 
What right, to radiant hopes and raptures rare, 
While others faint in dungeons of despair ? 



Ul^t Itrte ®f ®l|i? (&xmB. 199 



JOHN JIAY. 

/^ND is he gone, wliose diplomatic pen, 
JL-^ With gracious message and decision just, 
J Had cured the jealous nations ofdistrust, 

Had won Cathay, and made the warlike men 
Of Dai Nippon hold us in tlieir ken, 

With that respect which Truth alone may 

know ? 
Wh.o but must mourn to see our Aeneas go! — 
Brother of Man, and noblest Citizen ! 

His were the Virtues, his, the Giaces, too ; 
Firm planted he his feet in Honors way ; 
Gentle, his heart, his liand — wlio felt them 
knew : 
The Statesman's Art was his, the Poet's Lay: 
Of such as he the Land he loved has few ; — 
Ah ! would liiat such might make a longer 
stay ! 

GOD'S ALCHEMY. 

-^^OW wondrous is God's alchemy ! How 
K^ true 

^ His hand creative to perfection's mark ! 

The process of the sunshine and the dew ; 
The process of the silence and the dark. 



200 ©Iff TMxhB ®f m^t m^BB. 

THE MEN OF MAINE, 

READ AT A CAMP-FIliK AT HAMPDKN, MAINE. 



\©"^ 



HEN War's red Dragon rent the Land, 

And set the warrior's heart aflame ; 

When, at Columbia's dread command. 

Her children to defend her came ; 

When, hastening from the East and West, 

To check the rebel boasting vain, 
On to the front her armies pressed, — 
They, too, were there— theMEN of Maine! 

When Gettysburg's now storied field 
In dreadful splendor saw tlie day, 

And patriot hearts that would not yield— 
A myriad— bled tlieir lives away ; 

When at Antietam brave men sealed 
Their faith and courage 'mid the slain, 

And Union prowess stood revealed.-- 

Thei/,too, were there the Men of Maine! 

Shiloh they knew, and Malvern Hill, 

And Lookout ^lountain's summit high. 
And the dark Wilderness, tliat still 

Seems to resound War's dreadful cry ; 
Bull Run, Chantilly, Kenesaw, 

With many a fiery hill and plain, — 
Scenes fit to fill the Soul with awe, — 

And they were there— the Men ofM aine ! 

Where, downward marching, Sherman's 
men 
Souglit freedom by the chainless Sea ; 
Where sped the horse of Sheridan, 



®l|f Sirte (®f Ulff ffira^is. 201 

Who turned defeat to victory ; 
Where Grant moved on with niatcliless 
might, 
With conquering thunder in his train, 

Till all liis foes were put to fliglit, 

There fhey were found-— the Men of 
Maine ! 

Where Farragut, thro' storms of fire 

Swept safe, as only vsail the brave ; 
Where he, whom gentle hearts admire, 

Hold Craven,* sank beneath the wave ; 
Where Southern waters sang their song. 

And, answering in thund'rous strain, 
Pore Hudson's guns roared loud and long,— 

They too were there — the Men ofMaine ! 
Falls there a tear by brave men shed, 

It is a tear of love and pride 
For men who, unto Honor wed. 

Like Sidney, grandly fought and died : 
They died for all I Each glorious one 

Shall yet the hearts of all constrain ; 
For, where the noblest deeds were done, 
They too were there— the Men of Maine ! 

* Commander Teunis A. M. Craven, — a man, than whom 
there was never another who so belied the significance of 
his name, — perished on board the Tecumseh in her death 
grapple with the Tennessee. The ship was tfist sinking-, 
when Cominander Craven and Pilot Collins, understand- 
ing the nature of the disaster, instinctively made for the 
opening leading from theturret chamber, and reached itat 
the same instant. Ten seconds delav meant death f o both ; 
but Craven stepped back and said, with a heroic courtesy 
that no one can think of without a thrill : "After you, sir !" 
The pilot managed to save himself, hut the noble Craven 
went down with his crew. 



202 W^t MltM (if ®t|j? €tmB. 

When, in tlie years to come, tlie dome. 

Of Freedoars Pantheon, lifted higli,— 
Fairer tlian that of conquering Rome. — 

Shall glitter 'neatli our Northern sky, • 
Their names, inscribed in livinji li^ht, 

Shall on its mightv wall remain ; — 
There, first among the Sons of Might, 

Shall thef/ befound— tlie Men of Maine! 

SONNET 

UPON SEEING THE AMERICAN FLAG DISPLAYED 
TOGETHER WITH THE BANNER OF ENGLAND. 

T MUSE, while now yon Symbol I survey, 
(^Floating untramelled on the bree/e of morn. 
With one that charmed me in mine earlier 
day— 
That happy Flag whereunder T was bom I 
How blest tlie day ! That banner twinned ap- 
pears, — 
To put the troubled nations all at ease, — 
With one which proudly for ' a thousand years ' 
Hath borne and 'braved tlie battle and the 
breeze ! ' 

In love together t them ride the seas ! 
Then Freedom may her starry front uprear ; 
And, hand in hand, the peaceful Destinies 
Shall enter on their undistuibed career ; — 
Bearers of blessing unto all mankind, 
In everlasting amity conjoined. 



SIff Strte ®f ilfj^ fflriniB^. 203 



EVEN THERE ! 

N THE dismal-throated crater 

Of Vesuvius, 'tis said, 
Onc'o a tlower — little frater !— 

Lifted up its beauteous head, 
'Mid the ash and scoria springing, 
Cheerful as a sweet bird singing 

In some desert of the dead. 

Ah ! this world has many places 

Uncongenial and wild, 
Where you find sweet upturned faces, 

Lonely as the flower that smiled 
In the bosom of the crater; 
Cheering some forlorn spectator, — 
Speaking of the great Creator, 

And his presence with His child. 

ROOSEVELT. 

-^7^ HE man I honor, who respects his kind, 
^^ Though bold of front, oracular, and free; 
Whose will is might ; the orbit of whose 
mind 
Holds him to justice and humanity. 

MY CONTENT. 

T T(5\]IEN I stretch my feet to the rocks the 
\KJ surf at evening whitens. 

When I lie at noon on the moss in the 
greenwood shade. 
Let some sunny tome that with faerie fancy 
brightens — 
Let some simple Book of Song in my hands 
be laid ; — 
Something curious, quaint, and sweet, 
Writ by Burton, Browne, or Lamb ; 



\204 ilff MuhB <&f ®I|f €tmB. 

Songs of Blake, tlie paraclete, 
And whitest Soul of London street ; — 
Let me some lovM strain repnat, 
Where like the waves are fancies lleet; 
Where the Real, 
And the Ideal, 

With Love, at Nature's altar meet: 

Then content I surely am! 

DOWN IN MAINE. 

TT(^HAT is there down in Maine ? Why, 
\\J skies as blue 

As blue can be ; sunshine in Summer 
falling 
Like golden rain ; the voice of Ocean calling 
" Come, ye who love me, to my arms again V 
Bold Eden lifts her mount above the main ; 
Her island fastness holds a thousand beau- 
ties ! 
And never Nature-loving Spirit mute is 
Where King Katahdin holds his farest-reign, 
'Mid his attendantwoods and lakes and streams. 
Yea, down in Maine is many a sheltered nook, 
And moss-grown farm-house, and lone fish- 
er's cot ; 
And many a flowery field and garden teems 
With fragrance ; — ay, and many a rambling 

brook 
Goes musically, like a happy thought. 



®l|]? Itrte (if ill|]? ®r0B0. 205 



TO TITMAKSH. 

fAM with you, dear Tit ! 
When at dinner you sit, 

Let there be a plate for me : 
Tho' the money I horry, 
I'll be at that swarry, 
To-morry^ at table at Mitre Court B. 

THE AUTOCRATICAL CRITIC. 

-TT^ilE autocratic Critic I detest, 
(^\ Who snarls upon you, if you do but jest. 
Who means to blame, and with a will se- 
vere, 
Will scourge a breaking sigh, a falling tear. 

THE MOUNTAIN PINE. 

IF this virtue could be mine — 
The courage of the Mountain Pine ! 
^Nursed by the tempest, should I fear 
Grim March, the savage, the austere ? 
Nay, God hath bidden it abide 
Firm-anchored to the mountain side ; 
Fed it on fire and frost —ah ! then, 
It prospered with its regimen ! 

May I be as the Afountain Pine, 
Formed in God's mold, to Nature's line. 
With nurturing chemic suns to shed 
Their alchemy upon its head ; 
With birds to build its boughs among. 
With haunting songs to memory sung. 
And precious winds to loitering stray, 
And bear its sweetness far away. 



206 ite MlxhB (if iftf €xmB. 



Grand was it for the Mountain Pine ! 
It saw the stars at midnight sliine ; 
The giant Powers tliat mold its form 
Descended in tlie raging storm ; 
The wrestling whirlwind leaped from far; 
It laughed to feel the lightnings scar ; 
The gullying waters swept the glen; — 
Ah ! but tlie Pine was joyous then ! 

My Life ! be like the Mountain Pine, 
That takes the rock to be a shrine ; 
It little needs, it all secures; 
It thrives, it con(^uers, it endures ; 
It rounds itself, in its its content ; 
Uprightness is the course it meant ; 
Though fed on granite, softly-sweet ; 
And with restricted bound, complete. 

My Soul ! be like the Mountain Pine, 
With breathing of the wind divine, 
In whispers deepening at each close, 
And answer, as it comes and goes : 
That myriad harp aeolian seems 
Touched with the music of our dreams ; 
So wildly vague, so awful-rare, 
It tells me God is speaking there ! 

SPEAK, THEN ! 

PEAK, if you must, and speak the needed 
I word ; 

But, 'midst this Babel, will your voice be 
heard ? 



®l|]^ MltiiB ®f Slfj? fflr0i0^. 207 



L^t but the note be brave, the speech be true ; 
If silence follows, matters^ t o you ? 

NoJiVVF-GIAN NA'IIONAL HYMN. 

The toiJowing is a renderiiijj^ of tbe National Hymn of 
Norway, sung at th.- coronation of King Haakon and Queen 
Maud/ 

^K love our own Norse Country, 
Her thousand homes we love ; 
Piirrowed and weather-beaten, 
Her front doth forward move: 
We love our own Great Mother, 
WIjo gave us noble birth, — 
We love her songs and sagas, 
Her dreams that gild the earth. 

The Country saved by Harald, 

And his ranked warriors, — 
The Land that Haakon guarded, — 

Our love and praise be hers I 
Where Oivind once recited 

Tlie runes of ancient time, 
The fflory of lier captains, 

Her men of deeds sublime. 

We love our own Norse Country, — 

For her our Fathers stood, — 
The Land where Olaf painted 

The hallowed Cross with blood ; 
Where from the height spake Sverre 

Against enslaving Rome ; — 
We love our rugged Country, 

We'll guard our Northern Home. 



208 il|]? Itrte ®f ®l|f €xmB. 



8()NG OF THE CAMPER. 

'^^O ! for the woods! llo ! for the woods- 

i®^ mairs cheer 1 

(, The rod, tlie rifle, and tlie light canoe ; 

The swift pursuit of caribou and deer ; 
The flash of salmon from the liquid blue : 
Welcome, to our retreat, ye jovial few, 

In this, the merriest heyday of the year ! 

Ho ! for the rash of the descending stream, 
Bright in the moriiing beam ! 

Ho ! for the shouting crew, the echoing shore ! 

The rifle's crack, amid the vocal glades ; 
The torrent's long reverberating roar ; 

The flash of flying gems from paddle-blades; 
The hush of twilight; the brown,lengt]iening 
shades ! 
Welcome ! the song, the chorus, the rneore ! 
The tale of awe, the laughing repartee — 
The evening jollity ! 

Ho ! for the camp ! Hoi for the boughy bed ! 
The welcoming firelights gleam reflected far, 

O'er glassy lake, and leafy tents o'erhead ! 
Ho ! for companionship of moon and star, 
Where sandy coves and pebbly beaches are ! 

Welcome ! the sylvan board at evtning spread. 

When merry hunters frc.m their spoits relurii. 
To bid the camp-fire burn ! 

Ho ! for the promised season of delight ! 
Leave we our plodding, leave our cares be- 
hind ; 



Wlqt llrte (if il|]? <&tmB. 209 

To the wide woods we take our aniutal fliglit ; 

Hrace we the frame, invigorate the mind : 
Come I ye to Nature genially inclined, 

To tlie free life, the sylvan sound and sight, 
Tlie forest's fortune, and tlie lake's career — 
The charm of all the Year. 



THANKS, FOR THE YEARS ! 

On Tuesday, the 12th of May 190S, occurred the thirty- 
fitth aniii\ei>-arv of the authoi 's marriage, which was also 
the tenth anniversary ol our eldest daughter, Edith, (Mrs. 
Archer F. Leonard ) ;aiid at a reception given by the mem- 
bers of Faith Congregational Church, at their home, 71 Ma- 
rengo Park, Springfield, Mass., the Aillowing lines \vere 
rend. 

^HANKS, for the Years ! 
/^The sun-bright years, unstained by tears, 
^"^The years of Love's unclouded weather 
Since first we took Life's way together : 
So many comforts have we had, 
How other can we but be glad ? 
Grateful, we quell our cares and fears; — 
Thanks^ for the Years ! 

Thanks, for the Years ! 
All beautiful the Past appears, 
Wearing our youth-time, like a crown, 
Or evening whan the sun is down ; 
With Love, like sweetest flowers that blow* 
And purer than Katahdin's snow, 
Where he his hoary summit rears : — 
Thanks^ for the Years! 



210 11|]? MlxhB (if Wlft &.tmB. 

Thanks, for the Years ! 
The Future bears a Lamp that clieers ; 
A Sun to lighten us, and warm ; 
A Rainbow, to o'erspan the storm ; 
A Star of Hope, to shine afar, 
Above the sunset's crimson bar ; 
And the bland heaven its aspect clears :— 

71iankft^ for the Years ! 

Thanks, for the Years ! 
Each in its passing more endears ; 
And tender tliought and sweet emotion 
Come with them, like the surge of Ocean 
And if sometime may sorrow fall, 
We to each other still will call, 
And cry to Him who pitying hears : — 
Thcniks, for the years ! 

Thanks, for the Years ! 
All brave and fleet as charioteers ; 
And, like our willow-fringed River * 
Steadfast, serene, and failing never, 
Still may they onward smoothly glide. 
To Life's resplendent eventide ; 
Then may we sing from Heaven's high 

spheres, — 

Thanks, for the years ! 

* The Connecticut. 



®i|f Itrte ®f W^t <&tmB. 211 



A DIRGE UNDER PINE AND PALM 

FRANCES LAUGHTON MACE, OBIT, I.OS GATOS, 
CALIFORNIA, JULY, 20, 1899 * 

^T^O our eyes the Land of the Sun has grown 

TJie Orange and Myrtle have paled in the 
gloom ; 

I can no longer see the Almond and Olive ; 

No more comes the scent of myriad spicy roses ; 

No longer I take note of the lines of Eucalyp- 
tus ; 

The Laurel and the graceful Pepper charm no 
more. 

There arises a mist from the Sea ; it has hidden 
the fir-grove, 

And Evening comes fast upon me, laden v^ith 
tears. 

Our Sister is gone ! 

The Child of the East and the West, our Singer 
has departed ! 

A soft and gentle Star hath set in the Pacific 
wave : 

The Harp she hung in the twilight breeze is si- 
lent forever ; 

The light out of the friendly window is taken 
away : 

No smiling face looks forth at morning, 

No salutation is waved from the door. 

* Author of "Leg-ends, Lyrics, and Sonnets," and "Un- 
der Pine and Palm." She was a native of Orono, Maine. 



212 ®1|]? Itrte (if Sf|f fflr000. 



We hear her music in tlie purl of woodland 
brooks, 

In the wordless chime of sea wave and mount- 
ain torrent, 

In the thrush's aerial bell tolled in the cedar 
vale : 

We see her aspiring beauty in the star, and i" 
the curve of the rainbow ; 

We see her tranquil and shining spirit in the 
sh'^^en of a sunset sea. 

Everywhere saw she God, 

Everywhere listened to His voice ; — 

Heard it in the vesper chapel of the pines, at 

the time of the evening breeze ; 
Heard it in the roar of the Sierras; 
The midnight litany of cascaded Yosemite ; 
In the beat of Ocean on the cliffs of Monhe- 

gan ;— 
Heard, — and the music entered into her Soul, 
To sweeten and deepen her Song. 

Toll her a joyful knell, ye Bangor Bells ! 
Toll her a funeral glee, ye Bells of Los Angeles ! 
Answer the Bells of the City of God, for they 

peal joyously ! 
Our Sister is liberated. 
No longer she looks to the mountains whose 

gateways ope toward her loved 
Norembega ; 
No more her homesick heart shall pine in the 

invalid's chair, t 

t So a friend found her in her cottage at Los Gatos ; and 
coming away he plucked some orange blossoms fnom her 
garden, a few of which he sent to me. 



®ll|f MitM ®f ®l|i^ <^xmB. 213 



From the West to the East nevermore a waft- 
ed message, 

Nor tender thought from the East to the West 
again ; — 

Only from out the sky the gleam of a waved 
white hand. 

Yet the Land of the dusk-browed Orono § can- 
not forget the Singer 
Who sang his legended glories; 
Though the stately Muse may tread her native 

fields no more ! 
Thou, Piscataquis, chattering over thy pebbles, 
and gushing down thy waterbreaks, 
wilt not forget her ; 
Thou, Black Cap, wilt rear thy maple beacons 

for her ! 
Castine, and ye Desert Isle, her name is writ- 
ten upon you ; 
Penobscot breathes a sigh in his reeds, from 
his sandy reaches, and along his 
steepy shores ; 
Katahdin utters a moan ; Kineo lets fall a tear; 
While far in the South the Palm tree answers 
to the Pine tree's lamentation. 

They of her own Land are saying : — 
Whither has she gone, our soft-voiced, our 

white-hearted, — 
Whither, with Israfil, her beloved ? 
Where is she who sang the Song of Kinalo ? 

§ The Indian Chief who gave his name to her 
native town. 



214 ilf]? MlthB ®f 'IUff €mm. 

Where is our Exile beyond the Western 
Mountains ? 

Where is she who thro' the homesick weari- 
ful day was onli/ waiti/tTfj 

For the glimmer of sunset ? 

And a Voice out of the Sunset replies : 

She is gonr I 

Our Sister of the sweet voice sings no more ; 

Our Daughter of the Beautiful Word lias de- 
parted ! 



Rest thee, blest Spirit ! 

Stilled on Death's river the turbulent foam : 

Thou hast arrived at thy permanent home ; 

Thou dost inherit 

The house whose foundation securely is laid ; 

Thy scope is yon cope — 

The azuie, the infinite dome. 

Rest thee, blest Spirit ! 

Thy brow lias the garland of merit ; 

Thy song is the Song of Salvation ! 

Thou seest thy Savior, thou markest the 

wounds 
Of His love and His passion,— and, hark ! — it 

resounds, — 
Ho s anna ! Has anna ! 
From the tongues of a glorified nation ! 

Rest thee, blest Spirit ! 

Sadness and sorrow can never invade 

The heart's habitation : 

No mornings that break 



, ®I|f Itrte (Si ®l|i? fflr000. 215 

Shall have power to wake 

Tlie trance whose glad rapture hatli blest thee; 
The peace shall ne'er cease, 
That thy heart doth pervade, 
Tiiat with its soft hand hath caressed thee ; 
And thy heart hath forgotten to ache. 
With the antheming tlirong, 
Thou takest thy place ; 
With God's light on tliy face, 
Thou joinest the bong. 

And the garment of white doth invest thee. 
Befit ibff,— 
Rest thre,— 
Rest J 

No tears, no woes, no night ! 
Pare, beautiful Soul, thou hast found thy de- 
delight ! 
Enter thy re.^t ! 

MAKCriING SONG 

©STRIKE, ye brave, and strike, ye true ! 
Theres a high mark set before ye ! 
Answer, my heart, to the call for you,— 
To the bugle-note of Glory ! 

And march along — O march along^ — 
Tho' the roacl be dusty and rough and long; 
O march to the tramp of the valiant throng^ 
To the sound of the cheer, and the sound of 
the song, 

And the bugle-note of Olory! 



216 ®l|f MltM (if ilff ^tmB. 

O strike, ye brave — O strike, ye true ! 

Till the heart of a wrong be riven : 
Be not content vs^ith an arrow or two,— 

Let a dozen home be driven ! 
O march along — O march (tlong, — 
Let the hand be ready ^ the heart be strong ; 
O march to the tramp of the marching 

throng^ 
To the sound of the cheer^ and the sound of 
the song^ 
And the bugle-note of Glory ! 

O strike, ye brave — O strike, ye true ! 

Like the Captains of old story : 
Empty your quivers, like men who drew 
Their bow upon Evil hoary ! 
And march along — O march along, — 
To the trumpet-blare^and the clang of gong^ 
March on to the battle with ranking Wrong, 
For we move thro' strife toward the Land 
of Song, 
To the bugle-note of Glory ! 

MOTHER ! MOTHER ! 

Mother ! Mother ! what is this ? 

Anna Boynton Averill. 

OTHER ! Mother ! what is this ! 
Silence on thy lips to-day. 
Paleness on thy cheek! Ah, say. 
Whither — whither art thou gone ? 
— To that lovely Land of Dawn 



®ll|f MlthB #f il|f (^mBB. 217 



Wert tiioii called from us away ? — 
To that Land of Rest and Clieer, 
Where the Blest shall see and hear 
All that long their heart desired, 
While they wroiightand toiled and tired? 
— Mother ! what is this strange sleep, 
That hath held thee, heart and hand, — 
What, that lasting silence, deep, 
Which we cannot understand ? 

Mother ! Mother ! wliat is this ? 
yince that snowy April day 
Thou hast vanished quite away. 
Well I know the lone hill-side 
Where our parted kin abide. 
Often, when the grass is green. 
Often, when the daisies blow. 
Oft, when crimson leaves are seen, 

Oft, when drifts the winter snow, 
W^akeful, on my couch of pain, 
I survey the place again, 
I salute each sacred mound, — 
Stoop to kiss the hallowed ground. 

Yet I know thou art not there ; 

And my eager heart cries, — Where? 
Silence — vacancy ! I miss 

What my heart so ill can spare ! 
— Mother ! Mother ! what is this ? 

But I will not dream of woe, 
Such as cannot pass away ; 



218 itfi? MltM ®f Bl|j? €xmB. 



Nor of tempest without calm, 
Nor of grief without its balm : 
Tliou hast reached the purer day, 
Where no darkness may befall ; 
And the Lord, who loveth all, 
Careth for us — sees and hears. 
And will mark our falling tears. 
Thou art in the Land of Love, 
Thou art in the Home above, 
Where the Good foreve'- be. 
Where the Happy welcome thee ! 
Far from sorrow, far from pain, 
There, when we shall meet again, 
jNIay I cry, in maze of bliss. 
Mother! Mother ! what /.s' thinf 

THANKS FOR YOUR SONG 

TO DR. BENJAMIN F. LEGGETT,* OF WAKD, PA. 

UPON HAVING RECEIVED A COPY OF 

HIS "OUT DOOR POEMS.'" 

'^T^HANKS, for your scmg, my brother ! I've 
(^ listened your word of chef-r, 

And dreamed the dream of your spirit thro' 

many a varying year ; 
You have led me, and 1 have followed, as one 

who has little care. 
But in paths of sweetness and safety, and by 

waters still and fair ; 
You have taught me the joy of the faithful, the 

the earnest of all things pure, 
The pleasures that do not perisli, the joys tliat 

ever are sure, 

* Author of" A Sheaf of Song:" ; "A Ttamp In Swit- 
zerland;" "Anldvlof Lake George, " and other works. 
There is also reference to some fraternal stanzas witten 
by Dr, Leofor-ett, and sent to the author in response to his 
song^ entitled, " Old St Andrews." 



Sllj? Itrte W>f ®I|f ^mm. 219 



The peace of the heart of Nature, of valley and 

mountain dome, 
The wide, wild joys of the woodland, and the 

tender joys of home. 

Thanks, for your song, my biotbei ! You turn 
my thoughts away 

To scenes that lie in the distance, and deeds of 
an earlier day ; 

You brin^ back the sweet old visions of love 
and of poesy. 

In a quaint old town that lieth adown by the 
summer Sea : 

The wharves and the roofs and the spires, I see 
them as in that day. 

The ruddy bluffs and the beaches, and the sun- 
ny waves of tlie Bay ; 

The coves, the mountains, the lighthouse, the 
steamer, making the pier, — 

Your genie-song sings, pj^esto ! and lo I the vis- 
ion is here ! 

Thanks, for your song, my brother I You tell 
why the scene is dear. 

And the halo of memory deepens thro' shad- 
owy year on year ; 

For you know the bliss of the lover, and to 
dream you are not afraid, 

Though the world may scoff at a graybeard, 
who goes siohing back to a maid : 

Ah! we remember the longing of Love for the 
draught divine. 

Before the hour that witnessed aloud — Thou 
art mine ! — T am thine I 

And to-day we declare that on earth, or beyond, 
in the heavens above. 

There is nothing purer nor sweeter than a wo- 
man's wonderful love. 



220 Sljiie MuiB ®f iHfj? €xmB. 



Thanks for your song, my brother ! May Song 

and Love remain, 
As long as you walk in the sunshine or feel the 

touch of the rain ; 
To life's utmost hour may music in your inner- 
most heart abide, 
And the feet of a gentle woman go tiavelling 

by your side : 
And when for us life's antliem is drawing to it's 

ch>se, 
And the eyes of lover and singer sliut to their 

long repose, 
May they ope on tlie grand, sweet Vision, and 

find the same joys to be 
On Heaven's eternal Mountain, as down by our 

Summer Sea. 



TO WINDSOR, NOVA SCOTIA, 

UPON ITS PARTIAL DESTRUCTION BY FIRE. 

®UT of thine ashes phoenix-like arise. 
My fair Acadian town ! 'Tis good to know- 
That, like the wind-swept flame that laid 
thee low, 
Aspires thy courage. Thou shalt realize 
That vantage of misfortune, the emprize 
Of hardy spirits toiling against fate. 
Yet shall be thine a goodly, high estate 
In years to come, 'neath thine auspicious skies. 
Rise, then, triumphant! Hope will bid thy spires 
Again point whither thy true hearts ascend ! 
Rise, purified and garnished from thy fires I 



®I|j? Itrte ®f ®lff fflroB^. 221 



May guardian Povteis thy new made walls de- 
fend ! 
Stand, till the years bring thy deserved renown, 
iSheltering- thy loyal Sons — my fair Acadian 
"Town ! 



THE POET S FAREWELL. 

IN MEMOKY OF ARCHIBALD LA.MPMAN. 



f 



AIR wast thou unto him, thou orb of glory 

That tliro' my lonely window shines I 
Dappling the walls with splendor hoary 
Yet not with his thine ancient fire declines. 



Fair was the twilight, with its touch so tender, 

Its rising stars and falling dew ; 
Fair was thy changeful orb, of milder splendor, 

O Queen of skies that charmed his pensive 
view ! 

And thou, beloved Earth ! thy face adorning, 

With mother-smiles he may not see ; 
Once would he hail thy pomp of purple morn- 
ing. 
And throbbed for him each flower-sprinkled 
lea. 

For, when his heart was lifted to thy mount- 
ains 
To hear their piny harps at play. 
Who heard so well ? But, ah ! ye hills, ye 
fountains. 
Other shall list the mystic words ye say ! 

He beard your voice, O Sea ! His Soul did bor- 
row. 
When your deep organ pealed on high. 



222 ®l[|j? MlxhB #f Milt €mBB. 



From moaning waves tlie symbol of all so rrow, 
The haunting accent, the eternal sigh 

Tears fill their eyes by his majestic river,* 
Where vsralked the brother-poets twain ; t 

Others, may sing our songs, but Ae will never 
Charm us with the old witchery again. 

And well he loved you. Friends, whose fond re- 
plying 
To love oft gave assurance new ; 
Ye mourn a bard beloved, whose song undying 
Shall charm the land wliere late he said, — 
Adieu! 

But Love and Song with him are still victorious; 

On that white shore his music sweet 
Soundeth to Beauty, showing ever glorious 

The stately stepping of her radiant feet. 

There look forhim,0 weeping wife and mother! 

Ye little children, in your tears ! 
Ye poets, lonely left without your brother ! — 

Your minstrel's memory his song endears. 

"Farewell," he sighed, "ye hopes I once would 
cherish. 
When hearts were light and fancies new ; 
Ye dreams, like gorgeous flowers that bloom 
to perish, 
Ye lingering loves, a fond and last adieu ! " 

* The Ottawa. 

t Lampman and Duncan Campbell Scott. 



Wilt llr60 9f ilff ^xmB. 223 



ON A SPRING MORNING 

©RKiHTEN, O Day ! Lighten, O, Sun ! 
VVhimple, ye ponds, and breathe, ye South 

wind ! 
Glitter and run, 
O ye silver-crinkled streams ! 
Waken from your wirter dreams, 
O Earth ! Hear God's great word, and life 

and gladness find ! 
Now, over fields wide-winging, 
O birds, fill all the air with jocund singing ! 
For now, at last. 
The stormy Winter is over and past ! 
The clouds do soften, the leaves are expand- 
ing, 
And Ocean now speaks in a tone less command- 
ing ; 
The swallows are glancing on every hand. 
And the sound of the turtle is heard in the 
land. 
A wakened world is on the wing, — 
And, bark ! I hear the blue-bird sing, 
It is Spring I It is Spring ! 

IN ARCADY 

TO HENRY W. HOPE AND CHARLES H. COLLINS. 

©FRIENDS, in Arcady now sojourning ! 
With charmed hands the hallowed bread 
ye break. 
In joy that one doth from his fellow take, 
That he again an answering joy may bring. 
Marry your souls with Truth's celestial ring, 



224 ®l|j? MlxM ®f ®I|f €tmB. 

While Nature seals the sweet soleninity, 
And Paints* soft waters wander placidlv, 
And smile, oerswept by many a glancing wing-. 
Hark ! o er the cliffs the fays are whispering. 
Under the laughing leaves clustering apart : 
Tlie dens and caves with a wild music ring, 
While forest elves before your footsteps start ; 
— Or, hear I human tones of those wlio sing 
The old, " old songs, the music of the heart?" 

PICKING THE PEAH.b 

©BLITHE, tile joyous niorning, 
When the ripening time is done. 
And all the fragrant orchard 

Is mellowing in tlie sun ; 
When purple-vested Autumn 
His sweetest aspect wears, 
And the hands are out and ready 
For the picking of the pears. 

O the blossom-time is beauteous, 

When the pear tree, like a bride, 
Odorous as with airs of Eden, 

Decks herself in pearly pride : 
When Hope blooms witli every blossom, 

That tlie vernal season bears. 
As we think of fruitful Autumn, 

And the picking of tlie pears. 

And in long days of Summer, 

When the wa'-m West wind lieaves, 

Witli a rustling, mirthful music, 
Her soft garniture of leaves ; 

Fair tlie glancing lights and shadows, 

* A beautiful river in the cliffand cave district of High- 
land County. Southern Ohio. 



®t|f Slrte ®f it|]? €r0^0» 225 



And the lightsome twinkling airs ; 
For tliey bring the glad time nearer, 
And the picking of the pears. 

When tlie golden thrush is singing, 

And tlie twittering swallow tiies ; 
When the hang-bird tliro the branches 

His glittering shuttle plies ; 
Wlien the tumbling bobolinks laughter 

Wakes the meadow unawares ; 
iSoon the glad time will be coming 

For the picking of the pears. 

Come, now, my grave, dark Klioda, 

Come now, bright Rosalie ! 
The yellow-tinted beauties 

liang high on every tree : 
And come, my limber Harold, 

The topmost branch who dares. 
With basket and with ladder. 

For the picking of the pears ! 

Last year came i'eari and Kuby, 

And Ruth, and Little John; 
But the sweet Child of Pity 

Forever now is gone : 
One thouglit, amid mirth's madness 

To the friends of otherwheres ; — 
We must drop tlie tear of memory 

At the picking of the pears. 

The Autumn leaves are flying. 

The hoar-f !ost bites the lawn ; 
The bugle-call of Winter 

Sr)unds in the early dawn : 
Thank God, for gathered harvests. 

And the good that each one shares ! 
And for Love, that makes ns joyful, 

At the picking of the pears ! 



226 ilf]^ MuM ®f Ui^t §.mBB. 



''FOLLOW THE GLEAM/' 

\ ^®\^^ should we follow every wandering 

The star that led the Sages through 
the night, 
And brouglit them safely to their Souls" desire, 
Will lend our wayward feet its certain light. 

No marsh-bo in gleam toward which we vain- 
ly grope. 

No midnight meteor falling from afar, — 
Illusive mocker of adventurous Hope, — 

Can ligl't us like that well-appointed Star ! 

For how shall travellers tlie desert dread, 
Falter for doubt, oi haste for fear, their flight. 

Who watcli that azure palace overhead, 

Where, milli(m-lit,sits Stella, beaming bright, 

Saying to tliose wliose eyes with tears are dim, 

"He cometh! Let the world be glad for Him!" 

THE DREAM -DOOR. 

T N the time of gray hairs and dimming eyes, 

<^When all the house was silent, 
And the spectral leaves rustled not, 

And all but the voice of the brook liad left my 
ear; 

When alone I sat in my chair by the window. 

And saw the evening star above tlie beltof sun- 
set, 

And mused on sainted loves and liallowed 
faces. 

Until I slept: 

Then came one gently knocking at the Dream- 
door : 
My heart leaped, my pulse quickened ; 



Mi^t Itrte ®f W^f &.mBB. 227 



1 arose and answered the summons : 
Tliere stood my Father ! 

He held my smilintj Sister by her Jiand, 

The little Joanna. 

Blue and soft were her eyes, 

And fair lierfaceas tlie bloom of the Easter lily 

—The Child that my Father loved ; ' 

And her curling hair was as full of gold 

As in the years wlien last I saw it, — 

The years when mine was dark. 

Then when I looked upon my Father's face, it 

was radiant with joy, — 
With love was it transfigured ; 
And the light that shone there was the light I 

saw 
When on the border of two worlds we parted. 

Then a mingled thrill of joy and of pain smote 

through me. 
And to clasp him I tried, and I cried aloud, '*0 

Fafher !'' 
He looked at me sweetly, but answered not ; 
And then he stooped and looked in the face of 

my little Sister, 
As I had seen him look in the years that are 

long past, — 
Yet now with a diviner spirit of content. 
Then his aspect changed ; 
The forms of both grew thin and dim till they 

vanished away. 

And now, when the Dream-door was closed 

And I was fully awake, 

I sat with a burning heart. 

And mv eyes were uplifted to the stars ; 



228 ilff MlthB (if Wi^t ®r000. 



My spirit arose like the lark when he springs to 
meet the sun oVr the nionntain ; 

And with a glance at the past and a longing 
gaze into the future, 

My heart was no longer lonely, no longer sor- 
rowful. 



THE CHILDLESS 

ON(t firry boughs her nimble hand 
Had wrought to deck the Christmas 
Tree ; 

And she had laughed among lier girls 
With girlish gaiety. 

They were her pets, — her Sabbath Class, 
All lasses bright of sweet sixteen : 

Together they the chancel hung 
With sprays of holly green. 

She had sent loving gifts of cheer 
To some in poverty who bide ;— 

Sweet flowers, and sweeter words, to such 
As Fortune had denied. 

Then while the twinkling neighbor-stars 
'Mid the blue dusk did smiling meet, 

She went to her own silent house 
Along the silent street. 

She saw the many-lighted homes, 

Where everything was seeming fair ; 

Saw happy mothers smile serene 
On happy children there. 



ite MltM (if ihf Mtms. 229 



she heard their ringing voices sound, 
She cauglit the merry note of glee ; 

She saw them clasp their mother's neck, 
Aiui climb their father's knee. 

Then o er her sliuddering spirit rushed 
A. vision dark, — a scene of woe ; — 

An empty cradle hid away, 
A grave beneath the snow. 

Then when unto her house she came, 
To ope and shut the shadowy door, 

She felt the old-time loneliness 
More deeply than before. 

Over her yearninjj spirit rushed 

A sudden flood of feeling wild : 
'' O God, who lovest ! "" cried she, " say. 
Am I, indeed. Thy child ? 

" Then know'st thou what a mother feels, 
Whose heart has been so deeply riven ; 

O tell me of the little child 
That once to me was given ! 

" How like a blessed Paradise 

That home,"she cried, "to-night must be 
Where children clasp a mother's neck. 

And climb a father's knee ! 

My hungry heart with infant love 

And mirth Thou hast notbrightened so : 
O God of Mothers ! knowest Thou 
A childless woman's woe ? " 



230 ilfj? MlxhB ®f ®l|i? &tmB. 



There, crouched in that uniighted room, 
While deeper shadows round her crept, 

The childless woman bowed her liead, 
And bitterly she wept. 

But soon she daslied away her tears 
In liaste, as if she deemed them shame, 

And wore again a smiling face 
Before her husband came. 

TO A FRIEND 

AT THE HOLIDAY SEASON, AFTER THE DEATH 

OF HIS WIFE. 

Mrs. Ada Ward, beloved wife of O. C. Ward, died sud- 
denly on the tiaiii. near P211sworth, while being conveyed 
from the Maine Eastern Hospital, at Bang-or, to her home 
at Cherryfield. 

THINK of thee, my Friend, this sun- 
bright morning. 
And tears come to mine eyes, that thine 
overflow ; 
For she is in my mind who, without warning 
Was reft from thee, a little time ago. 

Sister of ours we deemed her — one beloved, 
Nor loved the less that she is seen no more, — 

To that blest home her Savior gave removed, — 
So fondly hailed at Christmastides of yore. 

Blithe is the morn that breaks her peaceful 
slumber. 
Glad her clear dawning and her matin glow; 
Angelic songs, in many a happy number. 
Announced her advent from this world of woe. 



ilfj? MlvhB m itjif €mBB. 231 



I look without — the snow the cold earth coveis; 
^^l^ite o'er her mound its winding slieet is 
spread : 
I shiver ! — On such days our fancy hr>vers, 
Shrinking and trembling, o'er our buried 
dead. 

And yet they feel no more the frosty rigor ; 
Theirs is the ever-swretly-tenipered clime 
Where souls faint not. but feel eternal vigor; — 
Yet, oh ! our thoughts return to that sad time ! 

Then fields were warm and bright, with daisies 

blooming ; 
Then birds sang sweetly, all the world seem'd 

?ay : 
She languished on the road while liomeward 

coming ; — 
Ah ! she reached home before you, on that day ! 

Lonely, that home, and sad thy heart, my bro- 
ther. 

While now returns the merrie Christmastide ; 
Yet think not of this day, but of that other. 

When she shall be thy pure celestial bride, 

O then, where Death comes not, whence Grief 
is banished. 
Where Sorrow' bitter tears fall nevermore, 
O may we meet familiar faces vanished, 

.\nd dwell with loved ones on that happy 
shore ! 



232 3l|f Itrte ®f il|f <&mm. 

SONG 

FROM NEHILAKIN, AN OKANAGAN LEGEND. 

^=!NKEAMING~soft dreaming ! 
Tw/ Such magical seeming 
^^"'^ To bind us, were better 

Than the Moon's pearly fetter, 

Or the gold chain of Day. 

Dreaming — soft dreaming ! 
Each mellow ray beaming, 
Our fancy will carry 
On lightsome wing aery : — 
Let us up and away ! 

UNDER DEATH. 

fWAS a child who, at the darkest hour 
Of midnight, with chilTd heart and bated 

breath, 
Fell under the vast Shadow we call. Death, 
Vanquished alone by that dismaying Power ! 
Cowering in tliat dark cave I lay forlorn, 
'Mid blight and ravin ; when a Voice severe 
Spake: "Of thy fond companions find none 

here, 
Where Silence dwells, and never wakes tlie 

morn.'' 
There, in that awful vigil did my Soul 

Ask for life's longest lease 

I since liave wept. 
And called on Death, where in liis narrow homes 
Bide my companions. 

Now that dream of dole 
Is broken where Death's wounded Conqueror 

slept : 
Shall I not meet Him, when tlie summons 

comes ? 



ilff MlxM i§i ®I|j? &mm. 233 



O, MARY ! 

^^ MARY ! the Mother of Mothers, 
\y) That bare the Lover of me, 

Pray for my Soul wh le thou sittest 
With the Clirist-Child on thy knee ! 
By the blessed Cross and Cradle 
Suffer me not to despair : 
or I was a little baby, 
And my Mother held me there. 



THE SPUR. 

^^HOU dullard Heart, awake ! O Soul, take 
^) fire 

With passionate delight to feel, to see, 
The Sky's immaculate virginity. 
The Earth's warm beauty. These pure joy in- 
spire ! 
Indulge no shallow thought, no mean desire. 
O Eyes anointed. Ears unstopped ! for thee 
The World attuned, transfigured, hear and 
see ! 
What God hath made and bless d thor may'st 
admire. 

How canst thou let the favoring day go by. 
And all its golden freight slip in the Sea ? 
The sunsets blaze, the forests bloom for 
thee ; 
But ere thou comest, lo ! they fade and die ! 
Thou tread'st a land of wonder, little knowing 
What flowers are waking, and what streams 
are flowing. 



234 ilf]? Itrte #f ®i|i? &.tmB. 



ISKAFIL. 

HE A.ngel conies ! His robe is giey, 

His wings are of tiie night, 
And half his face is turned away, — 

Hut, all ! his face is briglit I 
He seemed the saddest one who knew 

And loved the Seraphim ; 
But I must liaste to bid adieu. 

And go away with Him, 

His face He turns — lie smiletli ! 

Was sunset e'er so fair, 
Or all the lights of rainbow heights 

Piled in the golden air ? 
He speaks ! — was ever music 

Of lyre so silver-sweet ? 
Did Raphael move with statelier grace 

Down Heaven's emblazoned street ? 

The Angel gives his hand to me, — 

The Angel is my friend ; 
He saith, — " That one who comes to thee 

The loving Ood did send. 
I come to lead thee thro' Death-Gloom 

To height of Glorv-Land.'" . , 
Yet on this hrink of glorious doom 

Irresolute T stand. 

"'Tis not the roarbled mountains, 

With icy spire and boss, — 
'Tisnotthe ruthless river 

My Soul doth fear to cross ; 
T sifirh to I'^ave my dear ones 

Upon the hither shf)re, — 
I shrink to range the fields of change, 

'Mid scenes untried before." 



M^t Itrte (if M^t €tmB. 235 



" Ah ! did you know whither you go, — '" 

The Angel softly said, — 
You would not linger trembling so, 

Nor view the way with dread : 
The old and weary ones are free 

From sf)rrows and alarms ; 
And little children come to me, 

And nestle in my arms. 

" No trace of tears a-falling, 

In all that crystal sphere ; 
No cry of pain from wild heart slain, 

Thro' all the blissful year : 
The blessed ones tliey gather 

Upon that happy shore, 
And wives the necks of husbands clasp. 

And none shall part them more." 

FREDERICK LAWRENCE KNOWLES 

inscribed in my copy of his book, " on 

life's stairway." 

■^^HIS is the Poesy of Love and Youth, 
(^ With Hope a-tip-toe, (Age he never knew;) 
Yet Beauty's holiest impulse,radiant Truth 
Divinest Vision, 'mergent to the view. 
Controlled him. 

Eros tripped upon the dew 
Hand-linked with Psyche, when he lit the 

morn — 
That bright Apollo ! and the Graces, too, 
And Virtues, came with gifts, when he was 
born. 

Celestial Muf;ic waked his infant heart. 
And whispered mystic words : "A holier birth 
Awaits thee : sprinkled be thy sacred art 
In consecration : thou art not for Earth : 



236 Ulqt Itrte ®f ®I|j? &xm0. 



'Tis Heaven alone that knows the Poet's worth, 

'Tis Heaven that calls for rapturous minstrelsy; 

Yet, leave some witching notes to charm their 
dearth, 

When o'er the strings thy hand no longer wan- 
ders free. 

Thy unstained life was laid, like a white flower 
In the warm hand of God. His Angel said : 
''Earth, view its fairness, taste its sweet an 

hoar ; 
Then, Heaven, 'tis thine.'' — And, lo ! itsbloom 

is shed ! 
Rejoice ! where Blossoni-Sonls are gathered, 
Plucked from our blightirg soil, to unison 
With Life, and to Eternal Beauty wed. 
Is he, whom we have named, the Dead, 
And to dominion of Love's blissful tSun. 

We miss that perfect rapture from the air, 
The certain touch that couldour heartenthrall, 
The daring word that mounts, to our despair, 
When we would answer to its luring call: 
Lark-like, or swan-like the rich bird-notes all, 
.As when ttiey drop them, seeking eacli liis nest; 
His touclies delicate as fingers fall. 
Of 1 others, when the babe is at the breast. 

Apollo, who sliall be thy melodist, 
Or who shall make the Sacred Afuse liis care ? 
Who shall improve the Pipe, the Lyre assist. 
And nnrebuked the Gods' green laurel wear. 
To make it brighter ? . . . 

Ah ! sweet lutanist ! 
The broken instrument who shall repair ? 
On Earth 'tis silent. Rut— O Spirit blest ! 
That new harp soundeth. God hath given thee 
there ! 



®jl|j^ Itrte ®f TOff fflr^HBo 237 



LINES 

WRITTEN IN A GUEST-BOOK FOUND IN THE 

CHAMBEK OF A FRIEND'S HOUSE, 

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR SPENT 

THE NIGHT. 

/r^ET US riot sleep, 
\^ Howe'er with toils and cares we 
weary be, 
Until we look, O loving Lord ! to Thee, 
And cry, — "■ O Lord, have mercy upon me ! 
In Life, in Death, in Immortality, 
My Soul forever keep ! " 

THE FLIGHT OF TYRANTS. 

WRITTEN ON THE INTERVENTION IN THE CAUSE 
OF CUBA. 

If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Shakespeare. 

-^^HE bright Antilles shall be free, — 
^) Columbia speaks the word ! 
The Islands of the Eastern Sea 
Have Freedom's bugle heard. 
Tyrants, your destined hour is nigh ! 
Fiffht ye like hawks ; like hawks ye fly. 
Like hawks ye dart upon your prey, — 
The weak, the faint, the helpless slay. 
Let Freedom rise to strike her blow ! — 
Go, — c/o, — go ! 

Ho ! Tyrants, leave your quaking thrones. 
With trembling lips and dumb ! 

Rejoice, ve People ! Time atones ! 
Rejoice ! Yoitr hour V.s come ! 

The worth of Man the Proud must learn : 



238 Bte Itrte ®f ito ^tmB. 



Ye banished Patriot, return ! 
The prison door be open thrown ; 
Ye heart oppressed, no longer groan. 
O ye, who make their blood to flow, — 
Oo, — r/o, ~ f/o ! 

The meek, the wise, tlie kind, sliali rule. 
The proud shall rule no more ; 

Your hour has struck, vour cup is f'lll, — 
The measure runneth o'er ! 

Let God be King, — (Jan ye not see. 

Beyond Heavein's azure canopy. 

How Mercy dwells witli Power ? how Love 

Hath force the guilty to remove ? 

Resist not Him, whose sword is nigh, — 
Fly —fly —fly ! 

Ye cannot beckon back tlie dawn. 

Ye cannot bar the day ; 
The Car of Destiny moves on, — 

And will ye block the way ? 
Still in the chariot of your pride 
Will ye ingloriously ride ? 
And shall not Christ, the Captive's Friend, 
His Faithful from your wrath defend ? 
Depart ! His prowess ye must know, — 
Go, — go, — go ! 

Your day hath saddened long the sun, 
And made the moon look pale ; 

Like motintain streams our blood has run, 
To fatten every vale ; 

Justice went startled from your throne ; 

Mercy and Ruth ye have not known; 

For Comfort, ye gave Misery, 

For Freedom, lorn Captivity; 

Gibbets and Chains, for Liberty ! 

To learn your duty ye are slow; — 

Go,— go,— go ! 



ilff ItrtB ®f ®llj^ ®r00^. 239 



Go ! Belgian, Turk, and Muscovite 1 

Go 1 Tyranny of 6pain ! 
Go ! ye red hands, that hold no right 1 

Go ! scaffold, knout, and chain I 
Gu ! ye who stir the heart to hate, — 
Trillers and liyp jcrites of fcjtate, 
vv ho brew, while ye must dread, the storm, 
And promise what ye ne'er perform ! 

The wind of God begins to blow, 

G'o,— GO, — GO ! 

Be not Kevenge the Heros cry, — 

'Tis Mercy bears the rod ; 
Truth Cometh downward from on high, 

And Justice is of God. 
He wills no JSlave to tread His field ; 
No base blood blisters on His shield ; 
His stainless Flag goes floating o'er 
The gladdening seas, from shore to shore : 
He bids the foes of Liberty 

To i'Yee,— FLEE,— flee: 



ENVOY 

TO MY BOOK. 

/^^O thou, til' eternal way, unseen, unknown, 
\^X Where oft my Hopes, and oft my Fears 

have tiown ; 
Where Dreams have paled to crumbling noth-_ 

ingness. 
And Art is perished in the vast abyss 1 
What matters Lethe's wave a thought more 

nigh 
Thee than another ? — A II are horn to die. 



\M 20^-^^ 



One copy del. to Gat. Div. 
m 3 1910 





ii!| 


yiliiiii 


j 


i 




Lil 


i 





i|IW 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 762 535 4 



